Serpent Tales
by Snivellyx
Summary: COMPLETE: Harry has come into a magical inheritance but he doesn’t realize it. Unbeknownst to Harry, the first person to kiss him automatically becomes his mate. Written in response to Mistress of Malfoy's First Kiss Challenge. WARNING: Graphic M/M sex.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story was written in response to Mistress of Malfoy's First Kiss Challenge posted on the adultfanfiction[dot]net forums. In order to follow her guidelines I've had to change a few things, but you'll catch on quickly as you read this chapter. Basically ignore Deathly Hallows and the majority of Half-Blood Prince. Horcruxes and Hallows have no play in my story. _

_So read on! And don't forget to review :D_

**Chapter 01 – The Kiss**

The day Harry Potter turned seventeen was one of his more glorious memories at number four Privet Drive. The Dursley's must have forgotten it was his birthday because Harry was sure if they had remembered, they would have been even more suspicious of his delinquent behavior than usual. And if they had remembered, even a personal invitation to the White House wouldn't have convinced them to leave Harry alone in their immaculate home.

As it was, Uncle Vernon had treated his wife and son to an opera that night and they had departed only a minute ago in tux and gown.

With a relieved sigh, Harry shut the door on his uncle's taillights and turned into the empty sitting room. For a moment he debated raiding the refrigerator without owlish Aunt Petunia snatching whatever treasures he found out of his hands. But he'd just had a rather large dinner of secret birthday cake from his best friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and so wasn't hungry.

"A movie then," he decided, crossing to the shelves stuffed full of Dudley's DVD's.

As he rummaged through one of the rows he was surprised to come across a generic romance hidden between two of Dudley's more gruesome looking action thrillers. The cover portrayed a black and white picture of a couple engaged in a sweet kiss as they spun over a dance floor crowded by big-skirted women and suited men.

With a shrug, Harry popped it into the player and settled in to watch.

* * *

"Sarah! Oh, my beautiful Sarah! Could you ever love me half as much as I love you?"

"I'll love you half as much, Jonathon. And twice as much, too! Say we'll be together forever."

"Forever, my darling. Forever."

The movie ended with the scene from the box. But this time it stirred something in Harry. Throughout the movie Sarah and Jonathon's love had been put well through its paces. Any hardship a couple could face, Sarah and Jonathon had faced. But for all its clichés, Harry couldn't help but be sucked into the movie. And to see it end so happily gave him butterflies.

Digging through the seat cushions, Harry scooped up the remote control and rewound the movie.

"—Twice as much, too! Say we'll be together forever."

"Forever, my darling. Forever."

They kissed again.

And again, and again, and again. Until they were frozen on the television screen, Sarah bent backwards and clinging to Jonathon's forearms, Jonathon hugging Sarah excruciatingly close. Passion poured from them even in their motionlessness.

Harry had never been more mesmerized by a kiss.

Two years ago he had dated Cho Chang, however fleetingly. Once, he remembered, she had leaned in subtly for a kiss. But just before she could touch her lips to his he feigned distraction and escaped to the restrooms before she could get her feelings hurt. Shortly after, he was relieved when she admitted a crush on Roger Davies and they parted ways.

But that wasn't the end of it. All through their sixth year, Hermione tried again and again to set him up with various Hogwarts girls. Harry told her he had no time for girls, obligated as he was by the newly resurrected Lord Voldemort. Secretly, though, none of the girls he was presented with held any appeal for him. In fact, girls in general had seemed to lose their attraction. But he chose to ignore this revelation in favor of throwing himself into private lessons with his headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Now that Harry knew about the prophecy tying his life to Voldemort, Dumbledore had decided it was time for him to learn a few tricks that might help him survive. On obscure nights, by way of randomly delivered notes, Dumbledore had invited Harry into his office where he learned loads of different things.

Sometimes he and Dumbledore brewed potions far more advanced than students learned even in NEWT classes. Sometimes they practiced wandwork; non-verbal spells and even one or two wandless spells. Often Dumbledore sat Harry in a chair and attempted over and over to dive into his mind while Harry struggled to keep him out. Though Harry had hated these very lessons while under the tutelage of Professor Severus Snape in his fifth year, Dumbledore proved a much better teacher and Harry progressed quickly.

By the end of his sixth year, Harry was an accomplished Occlumens, an amateur Legilimens, an excellent potion brewer, and an apt dueler. For the most part he could hold his own in subdued duels with Dumbledore. However, he mostly retained the defensive, never quite able to flip the attack back on Dumbledore. He still struggled thoroughly with non-verbal spells and didn't know nearly the variety of spells Dumbledore did anyway.

Harry was shaken from his memories by an owl swooping through the open window and dropping an envelope on his head. Before he could even retrieve it from the ground, the owl had gone. Harry tore the seal and read:

_I will be arriving at your place of residence in approximately ten minutes time. Please be ready to leave immediately upon my arrival._

_Faithfully yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

It took Harry five seconds to read the note and another five to digest it. Then he shot from the couch and was up the stairs in moments, already hurling his possessions into his open trunk the moment he crossed the threshold of his bedroom. It was only when he shoved the last of his school books into the overflowing trunk and forced the lid closed that the doorbell rang.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry raced to the door and flung it open to admit the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Same as ever, Dumbledore stood erect on the porch, his white hair and beard shining in the streetlamps, his blue eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles. His wand hung loosely at his side but Harry knew that it could twitch up in the blink of an eye should anything dangerous threaten them.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Evening, Professor," replied Harry. If it hadn't been for the identical situation during his last summer vacation, he would have been having a hard time processing the vision of Albus Dumbledore on his magic-hating muggle family's doorstep. As it was, he only returned the smile and said; "My things are packed. I'll just go—"

"Allow me." Dumbledore raised his wand and with a tiny swish Harry's trunk and owl cage, complete with his snowy white owl, Hedwig, soared gracefully down the stairs and preceded Harry out the door.

"Er, should we lock up?" Harry glanced back at the brightly lit house and wide open front door. But as he watched, the windows went dark and the door swung closed with a click of the lock.

"Already taken care of," was Dumbledore's response. "Now, if you don't mind, Harry, I'd like you to take firm hold of my elbow. Yes, like that. Off we go."

Not for the first time in his life, Harry had the unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a tube that was much too small for him. When he popped out the other side his eyes watered slightly but there was no other reaction. Amazingly, he seemed to be slowly growing accustomed to Apparition.

"Well," Harry mused as he glanced around the familiar yard they were in now. A few chickens were clucking and scurrying away from their appearance. "That seemed a little too easy."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Did it seem that way to you?"

With confusion, Harry looked at Dumbledore. For a moment he reminisced on years back when he'd had to look up to see those blue eyes. Now they were about level with his own. "Wasn't it?" he asked.

"Not quite."

"Do you mean—"

"Yes, Harry, there are quite a few Death Eaters stationed outside of your aunt and uncle's home at this very moment. It took a good portion of my own genius—if it isn't too bold of me to say—to get myself into the protective ward around the house without their noticing me." Here Dumbledore chuckled again. "And the rest of my genius to get you out."

Despite Dumbledore's seemingly relaxed air, Harry was suddenly worried. "Aren't the Dursley's in danger then?"

"Oh no," Dumbledore assured him. "It seems as though someone let it slip to one of Voldemort's spies that you secretly despise your relatives and wish them nothing more than a slow and painful death."

Harry gasped. "But I don't wish that!"

"Ah," Dumbledore held up a finger. "But Voldemort thinks you do. And as your greatest enemy he is perfectly inclined to give you exactly whatever it is that you f_don't_ want the most. Therefore, he's more than happy to leave your relatives alive and intact. It is one of Voldemort's more petty decisions."

Now Harry laughed outright. "And were you the one who let this information slip to the spy, sir?" he asked with amusement.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled but he said nothing more on the subject.

"Now, Harry, I won't repeat myself. I find it incommodious. But I would like you to take a moment to remember what I asked of you approximately a year ago in that very shed." He gestured to the beaten down outhouse on the edge of the Weasley's front lawn.

For a moment Harry had to really think. The only thing he clearly remembered from that morning was pondering over the news that he would be taking private lessons with Dumbledore that year. But finally it did click and he nodded solemnly.

"The same precautions are being taken around the Burrow to protect me as last year."

"Indeed, they are."

"Don't worry, sir. I'll be on my best behavior," Harry promised.

Dumbledore clapped Harry on the shoulder with a smile. "Excellent!" he said. "And that's one more thing I can check off my never-ending list. You know, I'm beginning to understand the fondness muggles have for their tradition of retirement. I think I would enjoy a vacation on a beach some day with nothing and no one awaiting my return. Good evening, Harry!"

Then, with a pop, he disappeared, leaving Harry laughing. It was not so many years ago when he had imagined just that; Dumbledore relaxing on a beach with a nose bleached white from sunscreen.

"Who's there?" someone called from the front door of the towering house behind him. "Harry? Is that you?"

"It's me," Harry smiled and was suddenly engulfed in a squealing mess of bushy brown hair.

"About time, mate. We were beginning to think you were skipping off somewhere without us."

Ron Weasley stepped out of the house behind Hermione, grinning broadly. Though, Harry noticed, his ears were slightly pink until Hermione pulled herself off of him.

"Tell us everything, Harry!" she demanded, leading the two back in the door. "How has your summer been? Did you have any trouble leaving the Dursley's? Any more assignments from Dumbledore?"

"Slow down, Hermione," Ron said, laying a hand on her shoulder and leaving it there even after she'd settled some. "He can only answer one question at a time." But he still looked to Harry with the same expression of expectancy as Hermione.

Harry paused for a moment, thinking. Dobby had visited him at the Dursley's during the beginning of summer vacation. But nothing exciting had happened then. Dudley and his gang had been caught by the muggle police attempting to shave one of Mrs. Figg's cats. But Harry didn't think they were interested in Dudley. Dumbledore had lied to a Death Eater and now the Dursley's had their own squad of personal Death Eater bodyguards. He might have told them about that. Ron surely would have gotten a kick out of it.

But then something else popped into his head; a memory that already seemed distant; a spinning couple, revolving on a dance floor, professing their undying love for each other, stealing a kiss in their moment of passion.

It was something he'd never thought about before. It was something that had never been important to him until now. But it was all that was on his mind as he shrugged off his best friends' questions and prepared for bed in the top room of the Burrow.

The kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 02 – So Little Time**

The final few weeks before term began were like a taste of heaven on Earth for Harry. Somehow, the threat of Voldemort's rise to power seemed to be repelled by the protective charms around the Burrow as effectively as Voldemort himself was. News from the Ministry was always on the agenda for dinner conversation with the Weasley's but aside from a few mysterious disappearances, there was never much to worry about.

Members of the Order of the Phoenix often dropped by for meals or short chats. Harry knew this was another form of protection—extra guards around as often as possible—but far from minding, he enjoyed the visits, especially from Remus Lupin, the man who had been best friends with both Harry's father and godfather.

Lupin, once Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in his third year, had returned to teach at Hogwarts last year and would be back again for Harry's seventh and final year. After Dumbledore was reinstated in the Wizengamot from his short dismissal upon the grounds of spreading rumors about Voldemort's return, he was suddenly held in much higher esteem by almost everyone in the wizarding world. Therefore, he was able, very easily, to convince the Ministry of the safety and benefit of having Lupin—a werewolf—on the Hogwarts staff.

Harry always looked forward to Lupin's visits if only because he was as close to a father figure as he had anymore. Not to mention, Lupin enjoyed spending dinnertimes planning future Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons with him, Ron, and Hermione. It was always fun to anticipate what sort of magic they'd be attempting this year.

However, all too soon it was the morning of September first and Harry was experiencing that familiar hour of chaos just before the returning Weasley's, he, and Hermione would journey to King's Cross station to catch the Hogwarts Express.

This year, Dumbledore himself had set up a special floo network attached directly to the magical platform nine and three quarters. Harry watched as first Ginny, Ron's little sister, accompanied by her mother, then Ron with Auror and Order member Mad-Eye Moody, and finally Hermione with Nymphadora Tonks of the same occupation as Moody, were whisked away by the green flames. Finally, only he, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley remained in the kitchen of the Burrow.

"Now Harry," Lupin began, laying a hand on his shoulder. "While we have you here alone there are a few things we need to go over with you.

"First of all, Professor Dumbledore would like you to know that you will be continuing lessons with him throughout the duration of the year."

Harry nodded. He had already been expecting this, wondering when he would receive the first invitation to Dumbledore's office.

"Second," continued Lupin. "There are a few things you should know about Voldemort."

This threw Harry. Things had been so quiet it was easy to lull himself into a false sense of security. "But I thought Voldemort wasn't active. What could you have to tell me?"

Mr. Weasley eyed him somberly. "He is active, Harry. Of course he is. Only he's moving slowly—much more slowly than the first time he tried to rise to power."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"We can't be sure but we think he feels more confident this time around."

"More confident about what?"

"Time," Mr. Weasley answered simply. "He thinks he has unlimited time. And the thing we need to realize is that he might, Harry. He might have all the time the world has to offer."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "He's immortal?"

Lupin shook his head. "We can't be sure. Professor Dumbledore has been researching the means he took to resurrect himself at the end of your fourth year. It's an obscure branch of magic he used, combining emotions to create solid, animate things—"

"Er," Harry interrupted. "Sorry, but did you say combining _emotions_? No, Voldemort used real ingredients—his father's bones, Wormtail's flesh...my blood."

"They were tangible, yes," explained Lupin. "But there was more significance to them than just their material existence. Different emotions were tied to each object."

"What emotions?" Harry asked wearily.

"Well, this is where the problem resides," Mr. Weasley said. "We can't be sure. There are the obvious answers; his father's bones represented resentment; Wormtail's flesh represented servitude; your blood represented hatred. And these ingredients combined, we know, would create something purely and exclusively evil, born as it is from such acerbic emotions."

Harry nodded. "That fits." He thought of Voldemort's bone white face, set with a pair of evil red eyes.

"It would," said Lupin. "Only those weren't the only emotions combined in this particular spell."

Harry was confused. "What other emotions could he have used?"

"We don't know. Probably Voldemort doesn't even know. It's exactly the reason why this kind of magic is so rare. It's impossible to pin an exact outcome on human emotions. They're too unstable, too unpredictable. Do you understand?"

He was beginning to. He nodded toward his shoes, too immersed in thoughts of the terrible outcomes Voldemort's spell might have had—other than the obvious. But then he had a question.

"Hang on," he said. "If Voldemort can't even know the side affects of what he did, then how could he think he has unlimited time? He wouldn't know, would he?"

Lupin frowned. "It is true he can't know for sure. However, Voldemort does have a few insights we don't have. For one thing, he knows a bit better than us just exactly how he felt about the three people who contributed to his resurrection—though he can't know exactly because of subconscious feelings and desires. Also, we believe he might be able to...sense the changes inside of himself."

"How do you mean?"

Lupin shared a look with Mr. Weasley, who gave a cursory glance to his watch and then leapt half a foot in the air.

"Galloping gargoyles!" he cried. "Look at the time! You'll miss the train! Quickly, Harry, into the fire!"

The three of them squeezed into the grate and Lupin threw down a handful of floo powder and shouted their destination. When Harry spun out the other side, the platform was already mostly empty and the Hogwarts Express was singing its warning whistle.

"There you three are!" Mrs. Weasley called over the heads of parents seeing their children off. "Harry, dear, onto the train now! The doors are already closed!"

Just then, Ginny flung open a door for him and he jumped through just as the train rolled out of the station. After picking himself up and grinning conspiratorially at Ginny he thought of a question and threw himself at the open window.

"Wait!" Harry called to Mr. Weasley as the Hogwarts Express blew its whistle one last time and began picking up speed. "Why couldn't Dumbledore tell me any of this in one of our lessons?"

"So much to learn, Harry," Mr. Weasley shouted back. "So little time!" And then they turned a corner and disappeared from view.

Harry turned back in with a frown.

"Tell you any of what?" Ginny asked curiously.

Harry eyed her thoughtfully for a moment. Sometimes he, Ron, and Hermione discussed things in front of her but never anything too secret. He thought maybe the information he had gathered today would fall under that 'secret' category.

"Nothing," he said coolly, a minute too late. Ginny scowled at him. He changed the subject. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Prefect compartment," Ginny answered tersely.

That's right. Hermione had made Head Girl and Ron was still a prefect. Harry felt a little pang of irritation. He'd wanted to tell them what he'd learned right away.

"Where is my trunk?" he asked.

With a long, suffering look, Ginny hesitated and then turned and lead him through the corridor to the compartment she had already reserved. He grinned a little behind her back. Sure, she might be annoyed that he wouldn't confide in her like he did Ron and Hermione but Ginny was too facetious to really care that much. Guilt trips were her specialty but often her last attempt. He would be safe if he could resist this last assault.

Sure enough, when they reached the compartment, she entered with a cheery greeting to two of Harry's good friends; Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Then she smiled at Harry and offered a game of exploding snap, which he accepted at once.

The four passed half the train ride with comfortable camaraderie and the other half was spent enjoying easy conversation once Ron and Hermione had returned from Prefect and Head Girl duties.

Night had blanketed the sky when the lights of Hogsmeade Village finally illuminated their dim compartment and Harry pressed his nose against the window to see the distant outline of Hogwarts.

But just before the train shuddered to a stop, the compartment door slammed open to reveal a sneering Draco Malfoy. For once he was not flanked by his faithful cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. However, he looked as disgusted as always at the prospect of finding himself in the company of anyone as lowly as Harry Potter and his fellow Gryffindors (plus one loony Ravenclaw).

"Granger," he spat before anyone could speak. "Where have you been? You've got a job to do!"

"Correction, Malfoy," said Hermione. She seemed unruffled by his rude appearance. "_We've _got a job to do."

He turned up his nose at her. "Correction, Mudblood. You do as I—"

_Bang!_

When a rather dense cloud of purple smoke cleared, Harry and the others were looking at what appeared to be an overgrown shrub in a Slytherin uniform. Hermione and Neville were both gaping, Ginny was snickering uncontrollably, and Ron was glaring, his wand raised and trembling slightly.

"Git," he mumbled under his breath.

His voice seemed to break the shocked silence.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, rounding on him. "You're a Prefect! And he's Head Boy! You'll be in so much trouble!"

Ron shrugged, seeming only slightly abashed. But Hermione said nothing more, instead pulling out her own wand and repairing the damage. In fact, before she turned away from him, Harry thought he may have detected a delighted blush to her cheeks.

In moments, Malfoy was back to normal. Without comment, he huffed and swept furiously away. Hermione followed with a cheery wave and a smile over her shoulder. Then, the remaining five joined the throng of students filing out onto the platform and loading into carriages.

On the ride up to the school Ginny, Neville, and Ron laughed and conversed gleefully about the Malfoy Tree.

Luna put in her two cents; "He rather resembled a Bumbleburg Bush. I wonder, if left to ripen, would he bear the native fruits? They're quite rare, you know. And they give the consumer temporary Seer abilities."

"Maybe Malfoy needs some, then," Ginny smirked. "He might've had enough foresight to avoid Ron." She smacked him on the back and his ears turned pink with satisfaction.

But Harry couldn't laugh with the others. He had noticed something about Malfoy and it wasn't that he made a better plant than person. Some things about his visit had stuck with Harry. The first and most obvious was his lack of back-up. Surely he wouldn't leave behind his bodyguards upon entering the lion's den.

More bothersome than that was his behavior. If he hadn't been Harry's biggest school rival for six years he might never have noticed. But it seemed as though Malfoy was losing his touch. First, though his opening line had been rude enough, he did not fling any insults until provoked. Second, after being restored from Ron's curse, he had left without so much as a threat to tell his favorite professor, the biased Head of Slytherin House, Severus Snape.

It wasn't like him.

So many odd things, Harry pondered. Malfoy's seemingly subdued behavior. Lupin and Mr. Weasley's odd look when Harry had asked them about Voldemort's way of sensing his own attributes.

And a kiss.

The thought came unbidden to his brain. He hadn't reflected on the silly muggle movie since arriving at the Weasley's. And yet there it was now, spinning through his head just like Sarah and Jonathon had spun through the dancing crowd.

He could see the scene clearly. Sarah's fingers were curled tightly over Jonathon's impressive biceps. Jonathon held her around her waist, pulling her body flush against his. Their lips came together infuriatingly slowly but when they touched they were suddenly fused. Their noses were aligned side-by-side. Their eyes were closed, eyelashes brushing gently. A blush colored her cheeks prettily but the subtle tightening of Jonathon's neck, a muscle ticking just below his jaw, seemed more passionate to Harry. Harry. Harry!

"_Harry_!"

He was startled from his reminiscing and blinked, focusing his gaze on three worried expressions and Luna, gazing serenely at his left shoulder.

"What's the matter, mate?" Ron asked urgently. "Did you have a...you know—" He glanced at Ginny and Neville and hissed into Harry's ear; "_A vision_?"

Harry was speechless for a moment. For some reason Ron's face kept morphing into Jonathon's and Ginny, hovering close to his side, slightly resembled Sarah.

"Don't worry," Luna finally said, as the carriage pulled to a stop. "He's probably just been bitten by a Hufflapod. Their venom causes fantasies. It'll wear off." Then she slid off the seat to the ground.

Despite himself, Harry snorted inelegantly at her comment. This seemed to shake some of the worry off his friends' faces and they slowly followed after Luna. As Harry trailed behind, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of shock at how close Luna's guess had been.

Something in his stomach tightened and an odd tingle ran up and down the right side of his face as he pictured that pulsing muscle in Jonathon's jaw. Then he shook his head fiercely and took his seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

Harry thought he had felt calm and peaceful at the Burrow, but somehow, throughout the sorting ceremony and the start of term feast, he relaxed into a mood he had forgotten over summer vacation. There was something entirely too soothing about knowing Dumbledore was sitting not far away, looking down upon his students. So relaxed had he become that he couldn't wipe the ear-to-ear grin from his face even as he prepared for bed in the familiar Gryffindor dormitories.

"Good to be back, eh, mates?" Seamus rumbled happily as he pulled on his pajamas.

There were murmurs of cheerful agreement from the rest of his dorm mates and Harry climbed into bed smiling.

His dreams were affected by the too-large portion of treacle tart he'd ingested that evening. For some reason, when the kissing couple danced tonight in his unconsciousness, Sarah had disappeared and Jonathon had duplicated, so that he was dancing with himself.

Harry stood alone on the edge of the dance floor, happily admiring the way the man and his reflection sashayed with perfection. Around the two danced a variety of Harry's friends. Dumbledore was dipping Luna. Hermione twirled Dobby the house elf. Ron was attempting a tango-like strut with Neville, who constantly stepped on his toes. Harry was laughing fondly at them all, searching the couples for more familiar faces.

Then, through the flying skirts and coattails he spotted a pale, pointed face. He stood alone on the outskirts just as Harry did, staring through the dancers just as Harry did. And there in the corner of Malfoy's jaw, a muscle pulsed with familiarity.

Harry started awake from a sudden electric shock just above his right temple. But it faded almost instantly into a light tingle running from jaw to hairline. He rolled over and fell back into sleep, not remembering his dream in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 03 – Dumbledore's Office**

The first week of term flew by in a blur, with the most important moments sticking out like the ruffled feathers of an owl.

Earliest was in Divination, Harry's first class of the new term. Though neither Harry nor Ron planned to pursue Divination as a life goal, they were both stuck in the class with a few others who had not signed up for enough courses to fill their schedules. But the predictions of pain, suffering, and death that Harry had grown to dread from Professor Trelawny did not come right away.

"Oh, my dear," she had breathed after a glance into his tea leaves. They were reviewing what they'd learned the previous year. "Never have I seen such a foreboding teacup!"

A look was traded between Harry and Ron. They were both prepared for the next gruesome death she would foresee for him.

"What does it say, Professor?" Lavender Brown had squealed quietly. She and her friend, Parvati Patil, had signed up for the class by their own accord.

The room was silent when Professor Trelawny finally answered, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing," and then whisked away to hide in one of the darker shadows of the dim room.

Another feather was in the form of Rubeus Hagrid, one of Harry's better friends and the Hogwarts gamekeeper. After his traipse through the countryside on the hunt for wild giants to recruit for the fight against Voldemort, he had returned with only his giant brother. Grawp, who stood at approximately sixteen feet, enjoyed daily tromps through the Forbidden Forest, ripping up trees by their roots, and tormenting the lethal herd of Centaurs that also lived in the forest. He was untamed and untamable.

And Hagrid had decided to make good on his word and find him a lady friend.

Now, when Harry traveled the front corridors of the castle he took to glancing out each window he passed, always half expecting to see two giants barreling down the front doors, hand-in-hand. And the worst part was, Hagrid wanted to begin giving the giants more contact with the rest of the world. So he had asked Harry, Ron, and Hermione if they would mind visiting with him every Friday after classes.

The third moment that was stuck in Harry's mind was something that shouldn't have been there at all.

He had been admiring the clear night as he was walking back up to the castle after visiting with Hagrid (trying to convince him that hiding a pair of giants in the Forbidden Forest wasn't the smartest idea) when a whispered conversation caught his ear.

Someone was in the forest, hidden just behind the first row of trees. Being curious by nature, Harry just had to find out who it was and what they were up to. Leaving the worn path he walked on, he crept silently to the nearest tree and ducked behind a large patch of underbrush. Just beyond there, stuffed into an alcove created by three trees growing close together, were two people, arguing by the sound of their voices.

"—Why won't you just tell me?" a female voice whispered urgently.

The answering male voice was clipped and irritated. Harry recognized it instantly. "It's none of your business, so drop it. You only have one job to do right now."

"But I might be able to help!"

There was a pause and then a rustle of clothing. "You already know what you can do to help."

A sigh, and then the female dropped to her knees. Harry had watched for a long moment in confusion. The two had fallen silent and he couldn't make out what was happening. Then a grunt pierced the silence and Harry's eyes widened as Malfoy slumped against the tree behind him, his hands coming up to hold the girl's head, level with his navel.

He hadn't waited to watch anymore or even to find out who the girl was (though he had a good guess the next morning when he saw Pansy Parkinson clinging to Malfoy's elbow with a smug grin). Instead, he had backed swiftly out from under the bush and sprinted up the lawn to the school before the two in the trees could finish.

But that wasn't the end of it. Something about the scene had stuck with him. Malfoy's heated grunt had echoed in his head the entire night as he tried to get to sleep. He just couldn't figure out why!

Harry had seen couples snogging in the corners of the Gryffindor common room before. He knew many people had done what Parkinson and Malfoy had done in the forest. Seamus loved to tell stories about his muggle girlfriend back home and the things she did to him when his mum was out of the house. Harry had always listened without any real interest. Those kinds of things had never appealed to him before.

But now...now all he could see was Jonathon's twitching jaw. Now all he could hear was that rustle of clothes and Malfoy's grunt. Something had changed over the summer. Something inside of him seemed to be craving some kind of sexual contact. And that bothered Harry quite a bit.

So these were the thoughts he was mulling over in the common room Saturday morning with Ron and Hermione. The three of them had quickly exhausted the subject of Hagrid, all equally irritated by his request but equally loath to deny him something that meant so much to him. Ron had been as intrigued by Trelawny's lack of dramatics in Divination but Hermione had blown over the subject. She had always considered Trelawny a fraud and wasn't interested in anything to do with her.

Therefore, the three were left with Harry's subconscious desires as conversation.

"Personally," Ron said casually, flicking his wand and sending a line of parchment aeroplanes into the air. Crookshanks—Hermione's cat—chased them happily. "I think you just need a good snog. You know—get it out of your system."

Harry laughed. He didn't really know what to say to that. The idea made him slightly uncomfortable. He tried to picture himself snogging Cho but shuddered and gave up.

"Honest, mate. Every bloke needs a pick-me-up now and then."

Hermione snorted, un-amused. But Ron didn't let her voice her opinion.

"I know Cho's out of school now but there's still plenty to choose from. Dean told me he overheard Padma Patil telling Parvati that Lisa Turpin fancies—"

"Oh, _please_!" interrupted Hermione. "You two are as bad as a pair of gossiping second years! Harry's can't just snog the first totty he sees!"

"And why not?" Ron demanded. Hermione's cheeks instantly flushed bright red and Ron had the good sense to look ashamed, though Harry didn't think he knew why he should.

"Because," Hermione said in a deadly whisper. "First of all, that's a horrible way to treat someone. And secondly, I don't think a quick cop off with a girl will help Harry at all."

"What are you suggesting then?" Ron's eyes were suddenly wide. "A bit more than a cop off?"

"Of course not! You're such a pig, Ronald! And if either of you ever _listened_ you'd know exactly what I meant!" Then, without another word, Hermione snapped closed the book she'd been reading and stomped up the girls' stairs.

Ron gaped after her then turned to Harry. "What does she mean, we don't listen? I heard every word she said!" He adopted a squeaky voice. "_I don't think a quick cop off with a girl will help Harry at all_! What was I supposed to think she was implying with that?"

At first, Harry had been just as confused as Ron. But for some reason, having Ron repeat it back to him in a clearly male voice, even disguised as it was, made the pieces click in his brain.

"Ron..." he said slowly, "What do you think she meant by _'with a girl'_?"

Harry watched Ron's expression carefully as his words registered. From irritation to confusion to horror to disgust and finally—something Harry was not expecting—humor. Then Ron burst out laughing.

"Good one, Harry—" he choked, doubled over in his seat. "With—a girl! Ha ha ha!"

"What's going on over here?" Ginny asked, approaching their corner of the common room. "You sound like a dying hippogriff, Ron."

Ron's laughter ended as quickly as it started and he snapped back an insult.

Usually Harry got a kick out of the Weasley's bickering. He'd never experienced sibling rivalry before them and found it a fun way to test your wit. Today, however, he couldn't focus. What _had_ Hermione meant by that? Because one thing Harry knew was that if she weren't hinting, she wouldn't have bothered to specify.

This conclusion scared him. Mostly because he couldn't seem to reject the idea as quickly and thoroughly as Ron had.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said after she had effectively turned Ron's ears red. "I've got a note for you."

She handed Harry a scroll of parchment and he unwound it absentmindedly. When he saw Dumbledore's familiar slanted scrawl he focused more carefully on the words.

_Please come to my office at eight o'clock tonight. I've purchased one too many ice mice and I'd like to share them with you._

_Albus Dumbledore_

"Excellent," Ron muttered, reading over Harry's shoulder. "You'll get to ask him about You-Know-Who's new powers."

Harry had finally gotten around to telling him and Hermione about his conversation with Lupin and Mr. Weasley. It was one topic they had both expressed a large amount of interest in. Hermione had even put off homework to research the uses of magic based on emotions in the library. But she searched in vain.

Harry nodded excitedly and tucked the scroll into his robe.

* * *

"Ice mice," Harry said, and the stone gargoyle leapt aside to admit him to the familiar spiraling staircase.

Harry tried to hide his excited jitters before he knocked and was asked to enter. Dumbledore sat at his desk, the same as always. Long scrolls of parchment were rolled out across the surface, their contents interrupted intermittently by open volumes and loose leaf parchment.

"Ah, Harry, right on time." Dumbledore sat back and steepled his fingers comfortably without bothering to straighten his desk.

"Evening, Professor. What will I be learning tonight?" He waited to take a seat. Usually, Dumbledore stood immediately and prepared a workspace for them.

"I'd like to just talk, if you don't mind, Harry."

Harry shook his head politely and dropped into the chair across from Dumbledore. "What about?"

"About you, my dear boy. Tell me, how has your first week back been?"

"It's been...okay." Harry was confused. Mr. Weasley had said 'so little time' and frankly, Harry agreed with him.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Only okay? What held it back from the perfection we all secretly long for?"

Harry didn't know what to say. Should he bleat about Trelawny, one of Dumbledore's personal hires? Should he snitch on Hagrid—though he supposed Dumbledore likely already knew about the addition to the forest? Should he—and the idea itself was laughable—speculate on the question of his fresh sexual appetite? Or maybe Hermione's theory that he was—he couldn't think the word.

Instead, he settled for shrugging and averting his eyes to one of Dumbledore's many silver instruments.

"Professor," he said, as much to change the subject as because he was curious. "What is that?"

This particular object looked like a thick, silver snake with three tails. Half its body rose up, hovering like a cobra reacting to the music of a snake charmer. Its tails twisted and spiraled into many elegant contortions.

"Strange that you should ask, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I was only just consulting it before you arrived."

Harry turned back to look at him. "Consulting it?"

"Oh yes," agreed Dumbledore, rising and circling his desk toward the instrument. "It speaks almost as clearly as you and I, if you know its language. You see, Harry, it hears thoughts."

Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable. He remembered his Occlumency lessons and tried to put them to use now.

Dumbledore smiled, correctly interpreting his silence. "You needn't worry. It can only hear you when it's awake, and even then it only hears the one that wakes it."

"How do you wake it, sir?"

Without speaking, Dumbledore drew his wand from his pocket and tapped the object once. With a faint hiss, the serpent's mouth opened just enough for Dumbledore to slip his wand inside until only the handle was visible.

"And now it can hear every thought in my mind, even the ones I am not currently thinking."

"But not mine?"

"No, not yours Harry. Not until it is your wand, and therefore yourself, to which it is connected."

Harry felt slightly relieved. "But sir, if all it can do is hear your thoughts then how is it of any use at all? I mean, you can already hear your own thoughts."

"Ah, but you see Harry, I have already given you the answer." Dumbledore withdrew his wand and retook his seat. "I cannot hear all my thoughts. Nor can you. Some things are thought without awareness. Others are thought without understanding. There are all kinds of thoughts and yet humans can interpret only the most simple of these."

"So this..."

"I call it a Reader, Harry, because I do not know its proper name, nor even if it has one."

"Yes sir," Harry nodded. "This Reader then, it can interpret all kinds of thoughts?"

"I would assume so, though I can't know if it has left any kinds out that I cannot think of. All I know is that I think more thoughts than I can think when it's thinking for me."

Harry had to take a moment to understand this convoluted sentence.

"Professor…"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I was talking to Mr. Weasley and Professor Lupin just before I left the Burrow."

"A good choice," said Dumbledore. "I find both men very fit conversationalists."

"Yes, sir. Well, they were telling me about the type of magic you've been researching—the type of magic Voldemort used to come back." Harry glanced over the papers and books strewn across the desktop. "Is this your research?"

"It is some of it."

Harry nodded. "Have you...found out how Voldemort can sense his own powers?"

Dumbledore considered Harry silently over his half-moon spectacles. "The way you word it, Harry, is far too general. Any wizard worth his weight in gold can sense his own magic—yes, you can too, Harry, even if you don't notice it. Trust me when I say you would feel a strong sense of emptiness if you could no longer feel the magic in your veins.

"But what Voldemort may or may not be able to do is sense the way his magic is reacting."

"Reacting to what, sir?"

"Anything," Dumbledore said. "Everything."

"I don't understand."

"Nor do I, Harry. That is one of the more frustrating aspects of being human." Then Dumbledore rose and did exactly as Harry had expected him to when he first arrived in the office. With one long sweep of his wand, the furniture in the room zoomed away to rest against the walls. Harry and Dumbledore now stood in a large, circular clearing.

"What would you say to a short duel before we bid each other goodnight?"

Harry nodded and drew his wand, leaning forward into a dueling stance. Then Dumbledore flicked his wand and the duel began.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 04 – Seeking Advice**

Harry was trying to replace Katie Bell. As captain of the quidditch team for the second year running, it was his job to fill empty spots left by graduated players. Last year he had filled five positions. This year he only had one. And yet, somehow, it was proving a much more difficult task than before.

He could have said it was because the thought of 'replacing' Katie, who had played like one limb of an unbeatable quidditch force along with the other two chasers, was impossible—especially since there were only boys trying out. He could have said he'd already scavenged all the decent chasers his house had to offer. He could have said he was just having trouble focusing, absorbed as he was by his lesson with Dumbledore the previous night and his yet unfinished pile of homework.

All of these were only excuses.

The real reason Harry was having trouble finding a chaser was because he kept looking at all the wrong things.

He ought to first judge their flying ability; being able to stay on a broomstick while lapping the pitch was a good quality. Next, he needed to ascertain their ability to toss and catch the Quaffle. If they could do that, then they should prove their aim. And finally, the last test, their ability to work with Harry's other chasers.

But what Harry looked at was the width of their shoulders. His eyes caught on the lines of their jaws. He judged the rumble of their voices and the length of their strides. Twice he even caught himself eyeing an arse displayed in the air above him.

"Urgh, Harry, why is this taking so long?" Ron complained, swooping over to where Harry hovered on his broomstick. "It's obvious who the winner is!"

"It is?" Harry asked, blinking and ripping his eyes off the more muscled of the three now flying formations with Ginny Weasley and Demelza Robins, the other chasers.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed into one. "Of course! Dean's played as reserve chaser before. Don't tell me you were actually considering the others! That Euan Abercrombie is just weak. It's obvious he's never played. And Creevey's only good when you're out of sight; I swear the bloke's a bender. Sloper made a better Beater that time he subbed for Fred and that's saying something. Then Hooper's decent but he's just a git, Harry. Almost like another McLaggan."

Harry nodded absently as Ron went on. He wasn't quite sure what was wrong with him but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Hooper as he weaved back and forth between the goal posts in a kind of obstacle course Ginny had set up. For a git he had a great pair of legs—thick and solid in a pair of loose fitting pants, good for quidditch.

Quidditch. That was what he should be focusing on! Not Hooper's legs or Sloper's chest or Dean's arse.

Harry shook his head violently and forced his eyes onto Ron's face. They practically burrowed into his skull. It was easy to forget about those other things when he looked at Ron—Ron who was clearly his brother-figure and not a defined, good-looking individual.

"Right," he said tersely, blinking rapidly against a prickling feeling starting up in his right temple. "Tell Dean he's got the spot. Let the others go. First practice will be Tuesday after supper. Tell the team."

Then, before Ron could reply, he swerved around sharply and zoomed toward the locker rooms.

He touched down with much less grace than usual and tripped, bow-legged, into the showers. Without removing one article of clothing, he soaked himself in an icy stream of water. For almost ten minutes he stood frozen, willing his body to do what he wanted.

It was no good.

Fumbling with the zipper on his pants he let out his straining erection and went to work.

As he wanked he tried to replace images of Dean's arse with those of Cho Chang's soft curves or Lisa Turpin's long hair. In the end, it was the mental image of Jonathon—the fictional character in a muggle movie—that brought him over the edge. He heard a muted grunt and wasn't sure if it was him or a memory. The prickling in his head that had slowly been getting worse disappeared.

Then, with angry, rigid movements, he tore off his wet uniform, pulled on his school robes, and stormed out of the locker rooms.

He spent the rest of the day holed up in his dormitory trying desperately to focus on his homework.

Once, Ron had come up and asked him what was wrong. Harry only stared intently and silently into his face, willing his brotherly feelings for Ron to wipe out all other emotions, until Ron grew so uncomfortable that he left without another word.

He had a horrible time sleeping that night and not a single girl appeared in his dreams, even though he searched high and low for a trace of them while strong, large, _male_ hands tried to hold him back.

* * *

In Transfiguration the next day, the NEWT students were finally trying to turn their desks into barnyard animals. It was one of the hardest things Harry had ever attempted. It was such advanced transfiguration first, because the objects in question were so large and second, because changing inanimate objects into animate ones was extremely difficult. For once, Harry was happy for the struggle.

He had skipped Divination that morning, he'd told Ron, to get a bit of last minute homework done. Really though, sleep deprived as he was, he had become paranoid that Trelawny might find a hulking man in his crystal ball and declare that Harry was destined to shag him. Unfortunately, skiving off class hadn't helped in the slightest. He dwelled all period over his dreams, quidditch tryouts, the showers, Malfoy and Parkinson, Jonathon and Sarah. Nothing helped.

Except transfiguration.

So he had thrown himself so deep into the magic in question that it took a whole five minutes before he realized Hermione was talking to him.

"—And personally, I think you need to tell Ron because he's your best friend and you can't keep something this huge from him. I know you might be worried about his reaction but I'm sure he'll understand. And it's not fair to him to keep it secret anyway, Harry."

Ron, also in the class with them, was on the other side of the room partnered with Seamus for the time being. Hermione had cast a _muffliato_ spell that left a buzzing in any potential eavesdropper's ears.

"What are you on about, Hermione?" Harry asked wearily, poking sullenly at his desk and turning it a sudden vivid orange.

Hermione waved her wand and it was back to normal. She flipped through her book for more help as she answered him.

"About you being homosexual, of course."

Harry almost snapped his wand in two when he jerked so hard he stabbed the desk roughly. He turned eyes, huge as saucers, on Hermione.

"Wh—what? Who? Wh—what are you...homo-what?!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and then consulted the page she had been searching for.

"Here's the longer incantation, Harry. We should practice this one first before trying the shortcut McGonagall taught us," she said. "Do it with me."

Together, Harry and Hermione raised their wands to cast the spell. But Harry was still distracted.

"Mr. Potter, surely you remembered me saying you were to transfigure your desks into _barnyard _animals," McGonagall said sternly over the trumpeting filling the room.

Harry was pink in the face from embarrassment but Hermione, surprisingly, was overcome by giggles. The rest of class stared in shocked awe at the gargantuan elephant that hardly fit in the classroom.

With a wave of her wand, the elephant shrank until only a mouse stood at Harry's feet. Then, with a crack, it was a desk once more.

"Again, Mr. Potter. And this time, listen a little more closely to Ms. Granger."

When Harry turned back to Hermione she was sober. In fact, the way she eyed him was simply unyielding.

Harry sighed and shook his head. This time he could not do as his stern Head of House said. No matter how many detentions it might cost him, he could not face the look on Ron's face when he told him he was a—he might be a...

'_I swear the bloke's a bender_,' Ron had said about Colin Creevey. And it hadn't been a passing comment said casually and without real care. It had been an accusation.

* * *

Harry didn't really have a destination. He was wandering—wondering. The conclusion of his wondering was inescapable and so he wandered to become lost. But it wasn't working. Hogwarts had been his home for six years and with the help of the Marauders' Map it was almost impossible for him to lose track of where he was (although sometimes it took longer to sort out than others).

So, he knew it exactly when he'd reached the blank stretch of wall from which one could summon the entrance to the Room of Requirement. Only tonight the door was already in place and swinging open just as Harry reached it.

"Oh hello, Harry," Neville said. "Did you need this? I'm done now." He gestured to the door and then pushed it shut so that it melted back into the wall.

"Er, no thanks, Neville," replied Harry.

Neville grinned. "Headed on, then? I'll walk with you. I was just on my way to dinner."

Harry fell into step with Neville but was too curious to remain silent. "What were you doing in there, Neville?"

"The Room of Requirement?" Surprisingly, Neville blushed. "Oh, I was just finishing some homework. I...still use the same room you made back when we were Dumbledore's Army. It's comforting—helps me think better."

Harry didn't answer. It always made him uncomfortable to hear how much Neville missed the student-organized Defense Against the Dark Arts group they had formed in their fifth year. It had marked a real change in Neville—including his social standing.

"It's good for thinking," Neville said out of the blue.

Harry shot him a questioning look and Neville shrugged.

"You just look like you've got a lot on your mind."

"Neville," said Harry, suddenly struck by inspiration. "Is Colin Creevey...er, is he—gay?"

"What makes you think I'd know that?" Neville blushed again.

"Oh," Harry was surprised. He didn't expect an answer; the question had just spilled out of his mouth. "I dunno, I just wondered. Only Ron reckons he is but...I dunno."

"Oh, well, as a matter of fact...well, no. No, I don't think he is, Harry."

"Ah," Harry sighed in disappointment. He had been thinking he could go talk to Colin.

Neville glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye. "Is that...a relief to you?"

"Hmm?" asked Harry, distracted.

"Does it relieve you to know that Colin is straight?"

Harry looked up at the bitter edge in Neville's voice.

"What were you going to do if he was gay? Spread nasty rumors? Make fun of him? Maybe just try to beat it out of him, sound good to you?"

Harry was gaping. "No, Neville, nothing like that! I was going to—well, I was...Er, never mind."

"What's the matter, Harry?" His voice was gentle again. It threw Harry into talking.

"I was going to talk to him...maybe ask him a few things," he all but whispered.

Neville gasped. "Are you—?"

"I dunno, Neville. It's all kind of...confusing. Hermione reckons I am, though."

Neville didn't reply. Harry was afraid to look up—afraid that Neville was judging him. He shouldn't have opened up!

But when he did look up, Neville was beaming and Harry recognized the look right away. It was the relief of someone who had been keeping a secret for a long time but had finally found someone to talk to about it.

Before Harry could react Neville had his elbow and was dragging him back the way they came. Within moments they were hidden away in the Room of Requirement. Neville's requests had supplied them with a warm fire, comfy chairs, and good food. Harry couldn't touch the food.

"How long have you known?" Neville asked excitedly. "Or suspected, anyway?"

"Not long," Harry shook his head. "Yesterday was the first day it was even an option in my head. Today is the first day I came to terms with it possibly being true—sort of."

"And you said Hermione opened your eyes to that idea, right?"

"Right."

"Me too!" Neville grinned. "She's great, isn't she?"

Harry really wasn't surprised. Hermione was too observant for her own good. "So how long have you known, then?" he asked.

"Oh, it's been years now. I've actually...er," Neville turned beet red. "I've got myself a bit of an unofficial boyfriend back home. He sort of...educated me when I first realized that I was gay."

This took Harry off his guard for a few seconds. For someone so shy, it seemed amazing that Neville had come to terms so fully with what he was. Harry still had trouble _thinking_ the word. He couldn't help himself; he had to ask.

"How can you be so comfortable with it all, Neville? Doesn't it embarrass you?"

Neville shrugged, still a little pink in the face. "Well, relationship stuff always embarrassed me but it's not because I'm gay. Homosexuals are actually quite common in the Wizarding world—or bisexuals are anyway. As a magical community we're more open to different lifestyles."

"So why are you keeping it covered up, then?"

Grimacing, Neville looked at his shoes. "I still haven't told Gran," he mumbled. "She's not against homosexuals or anything, but she always expected me to get married to a nice pureblood and continue the line."

Harry felt a twinge of remorse for Neville. Sure, he had to face Ron if he ever admitted to being—well, yeah. But at least he didn't have any family to worry about. He changed the subject to save them both some discomfort.

"How did you first know? Was it just whatever Hermione said to you?"

"Oh, no! Hermione only planted the idea in my head. No, the first time I knew—really _knew_ was when I had my first kiss."

Red seemed like the common skin color for the night.

"In fact," Neville powered on, as though he was trying to get it out before he lost his nerve. "If you're still feeling unsure, you ought to just give it a quick go. One kiss with another bloke will tell you all you need to know."

Harry immediately caught his drift by the way his eyes were permanently glued to his feet. For the first time in his life, he sized Neville up as more than just a friend. He tried to imagine doing with Neville some of the things he'd seen couples do around Hogwarts; holding hands, cuddling, hugging...kissing.

A sharp jab shot through his head, zinging down to his jaw and back up to his scalp. It left a searing line down the right side of his face and Harry associated the fading heat with a blush, even though the initial feeling had been so much more.

He thought maybe that answered his question; _could_ he be sexually attracted to Neville?

But at the same time, he felt a sort of emptiness inside him. He remembered the same feeling when he dwelled on Jonathon's passion. Then it had been accompanied by another feeling; a tightening in his abdomen, like anticipation—excitement. This time, looking at Neville, he didn't feel that, and he knew. Neville could only ever be a friend.

He looked away before Neville could catch him staring. "Er, thanks Neville. I might give that a shot..."

When he was lying in bed that night Harry thought about the irony. In the last few days, both Ron and Neville had told him that the solution to his problem was a quick snog.

Well, here he lay sleepless in bed. He had neither snogged, nor resolved any of his problems. And so, since he could think of no better solution, Harry fell asleep with half-formed dubious plans floating around in his head and woke up with a hard-on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 05 – Burning Man**

It was Friday again.

Harry had woken up the morning after his chat with Neville with determination burning in his veins. But it had hardly lasted through breakfast. Luckily, it came blazing back to him with every sunrise and so he quickly learned to rush through the mornings if he were to make any progress at all.

Tuesday afternoon he only made it to his chosen location (the Great Hall), before chickening out. He had originally chosen it because so many students inhabited it throughout the day. Decidedly, this was the reason it would not work—much too over-populated for such an embarrassing scheme.

Wednesday morning found him with the completely opposite problem. As far as he knew, only Neville still used the Room of Requirement and he decided he'd like a rather wider selection than Neville.

Thursday he waited for only two minutes outside the library, peering in surreptitiously when he thought no one was looking. Then he left quickly, muttering about uptight bookworms who would surely react badly if any were the subject of his plan. Whether this was a legit excuse or a quick way to talk himself out of his idea for one more day he wasn't sure.

But despite all his previous unsuccessful attempts, today he was in high spirits. It was evening, after classes, so he had all the time in the world to build up his courage. He had chosen to station himself in front of the Gryffindor common room entrance and was proud of himself for finding such a superb location. There could be no one better to stampede than a fellow Gryffindor. Here, he stood the best chance of being forgiven and forgotten if things went badly.

And so, he was able to stay determined until the first set of footsteps echoed down the corridor, moving toward his hiding spot behind a tapestry. The person was alone—that much was obvious—and not in a hurry, which would be good in case Harry needed time to explain away this potential disaster. Harry could also tell by the size and tone of the step that it was male. Good. There would be no point to this if it were a girl.

As the footsteps drew nearer Harry prepared himself to lunge and began counting down in his head.

_Four...three...two..._

One more step and Harry threw back the curtain. In one swift movement, he grabbed the body part nearest him (a wrist) and dragged the person back into the alcove with him. The tapestry fell once more into place so from the corridor everything appeared calm and normal.

Beyond the reach of eyes the unnamed boy grunted as he was slammed into the stone wall. Giving him no time to understand what was happening, and giving himself no time to lose his nerve, Harry pushed into him and covered the boy's mouth with his own.

It wasn't a very deep kiss as far as passion goes, nor was it very long. But Harry didn't need much to be sure. One second he was feeling silly, his mouth pressed over another's, both perfectly still with surprise, more like they were posing for a picture than kissing. The next moment, Harry's senses were over-loading.

He could smell the other; minty and musky; a kind of smell that burns and sooths the nose all at once. The taste was something similar as well and it made Harry's tongue tingle pleasantly. Beneath his hands, a pair of strong, wide shoulders shifted; testing his grip; distracted by his lips. A foreign pair of hands, wide in a good way, eased up his sides, squeezed him just beneath his arms. His heart tripped in a broken beat.

Then, a fire zinged through his temple, alighting half his face in blistering pain. He cringed, his body convulsed, and, as if waiting for this very opening, the person beneath him took this opportunity to use his perfectly positioned hands to throw Harry off and away from him.

Harry crumpled in a moaning heap.

"What the bloody hell was _that_, Potter?!" Malfoy shouted.

Harry's head rang with the noise and the pain and yet his next groan was only for his horribly bad luck.

Malfoy. How could it have been _Malfoy_?!

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he said, but his voice was surprisingly weak. He didn't think Malfoy heard him. He was muttering to himself.

"First Granger doesn't show up for the Prefect meeting. Then I have to go into the bleeding _Lion's Den. _And then Harry-bloody-Potter molests me! What in the hell _was_ that, Potter?!" he asked again. This time, he accentuated his aggravation with a sharp kick at Harry's ribs.

Harry coughed and wheezed and clutched at his side with one hand and his burning face with the other. His vision was blurring; the heat from his face was seeping through his body. It had reached his shoulders already and was crawling down his arms. He tied them tightly around his chest, hoping to keep the heat from his heart and lungs. Without the support his arms had been supplying him, he toppled sideways, lying fully at Malfoy's unforgiving feet.

Malfoy took the opportunity for another kick. This one collided with Harry's stomach but he didn't feel it. His heart was thundering—fluttering like a humming bird's wings. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't hold the fire at bay. It swept through his stomach and reached his toes in record time.

Now his entire body was on fire.

His skin felt light; like it would crumble like ash under the slightest touch. He was sure he was black as coal. How could Malfoy not see that he was burning? How could he have no mercy?!

"Help—me," he managed to cough out.

Malfoy's glare was so cold Harry could almost feel it touch his heated skin. "It would be my pleasure," he heard Malfoy hiss.

Fingers as cold as ice wrapped around his wrists and Harry let out a tiny breath of relief until, a second later, the heat flared somehow hotter still in his right temple.

He was being dragged. Malfoy was dragging him deeper into the shadow of the alcove. Then he fell to the floor again and was left, curled in a lump. A wave of magic washed over him and his labored panting was cut off. He was silenced.

"I hope you die, Potter," Malfoy spat. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Harry helpless. The darkness had become his pyre.

But despite everything, he could still hear Malfoy's last words—like a whisper in his mind—before he disappeared behind the tapestry.

"Am I doing the right thing?"

* * *

When Harry woke up he felt perfect. There was no heat and no pain. The torture in his temple was history. His ribs didn't even ache. The only way he had to know that he hadn't dreamed up the whole scene was that he was still in the alcove next to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

He didn't even bother rising or walking slowly, testing the waters. Somehow he could feel inside him that he was fine—better than fine. He felt rejuvenated, like he'd only just woken up for the first time. It was an intoxicating feeling.

Nothing slowed him as he strode from the alcove and down the short stretch of corridor to the Fat Lady. A small girl passed him on her way out of the common room but he shut his ears to her tiny whisper as he went by.

"Bungleberry," he said, and the portrait swung open.

A multitude of voices slammed into him before he could even step through. It was as loud as the parties they threw for winning Quidditch matches. But that couldn't be it. Harry couldn't have been out so long that they'd already played against Ravenclaw. Wouldn't someone have noticed the Gryffindor captain and seeker was missing?

Then it hit him. That must be it. They were all discussing his sudden disappearance. They were worried about him!

Harry tried unsuccessfully to wipe the pleased smile off his face as he stepped into the room, flinging his arms open.

"I'm here!" he shouted over the din. The room silenced immediately.

Then, just as suddenly, it was noisy again, but in a softer way than before. Now the voices were hushed, like they didn't want to be overheard. But Harry had no trouble hearing them.

"Good on ya, Captain Obvious," one murmured sarcastically.

"What an attention slag," hissed another.

"He's gagging," said one—rather bluntly, Harry thought.

"Oh joy, it's the great Harry Potter."

"Who cares?"

"Bugger off."

And on and on until Harry was practically growling. It was one thing to think these thoughts in the privacy of their own minds, but quite another to say them out loud and to his face.

Harry could taste anger on the back of his tongue like hot metal. But before he could react another voice interrupted the clamor. This one caught his attention because it was one of the few that did not sound put off by his interruption.

"There he is! Finally!" —Then louder— "Harry! Where have you been?"

Hermione was weaving toward him through the tables and couches. And as she got closer the room grew quieter, the students turning back to their previous activities.

"You left dinner before Ron and I did but I couldn't find you when I got back. Did you stop somewhere along the way?"

So he had only been out a few hours then. How odd.

"Nevermind," Hermione continued without waiting for his explanation. "Listen to this: you'll never guess what I did this evening. Oh, Harry, you'll be so proud of me!" She beamed.

Without really considering first, he answered automatically as he dropped into an armchair in front of the fire. "You skipped the Prefect meeting."

"I—well, yes. How did you know?" She sounded rather put out with his lack of enthusiasm. She sat across from him on the hearth rug and waited expectantly.

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy mentioned it." He suddenly felt less fervent about the evening's activities. He supposed Hermione might be interested in hearing about it but how would he go about explaining it?

_So I snogged Draco Malfoy on a whim earlier and then I spontaneously combusted._

Suddenly, Harry jerked bolt up-right in his seat. He didn't even notice Hermione gaping at him. Something had just clicked in his mind.

Since he had woken, he'd been dwelling on that strange fire; wondering what caused it, what it meant. But thinking of it that way—hearing the words _'snogged' _and _'spontaneously combusted' _all in one sentence opened his eyes to a new perspective.

What if that fire had simply been passion? What if all he was feeling was the lust typical of intimacy? Maybe he had dreamed up the pain. Maybe he had only been overwhelmed by all the new feelings. He had never felt such things before, after all. Was that what everyone felt when they kissed?

But no, he'd never heard of anyone passing out after a snog. So that couldn't be right, could it?

Only maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just a pansy when it came to sex. Maybe...

He could have continued this mind-whirling dispute in his head for some time, back and forth, on and on, if Hermione hadn't chosen that moment to interrupt.

"Harry, please say something before I go mental!"

"What?" He blinked, focusing on Hermione, tensed and leaning toward him from where she knelt on the rug.

"First you say Malfoy told you I skived off duties like it just came up in casual conversation between you and him. Then you go quiet and pale as a ghost...What's going on, Harry?"

She paused and Harry thought she was done speaking. Then she said, like an afterthought; "Something's different about him..."

"About who?" asked Harry.

"What?"

"What?" Harry echoed.

The confusion hung so thick between them that all other words were swallowed up and the two merely sat, gaping at the other in silence.

Now that he was no longer focusing on the conversation, Harry was able to notice that the noise level in the room had picked up again. It was too loud—unnatural. He glanced around but this only confused him more. Students were lounging, completing homework, playing games, and reading. The activities were all normal for late evening in the common room, when everyone was winding down for bed. And yet it sounded like every last person was shouting to their neighbor instead of quietly conversing.

"What's happened?" Harry asked Hermione. "Why is everyone so riled? Did I miss something?"

Hermione took a cursory glance around the room as Harry had. "What are you on about, Harry?"

Harry's forehead crumpled, his brow furrowing in utter bewilderment. Too much had happened this evening, things weren't right. He felt odd, everyone was behaving oddly—Hermione, Malfoy, everyone. It was too much.

"I'm going to bed," he muttered, then rose and left before Hermione could call him back.

In his dormitory Dean greeted him with good cheer. He was still over the moon about being placed permanently on the Quidditch team.

"Oh, by the way," said Dean. "You've had an owl." He handed Harry a scroll and Harry read:

_I should like your presence in my office at eight o'clock tonight, if you please._

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry looked at the clock. It read five after eight.

He could run. But Harry didn't feel like doing much else than sleeping and definitely not thinking anymore. What would Dumbledore do if he simply didn't show up for a meeting? Would he come looking? Would he give Harry detention?

Well, Harry decided, let him come. As long as I get a bit of sleep before he decides anything is wrong.

Harry nodded thanks to Dean as a dismissal (Dean had been trying to sneak a look at the letter) and went about preparing for bed in silence. While his back was turned and he was pulling on his pajamas Dean spoke again, quietly—almost too quietly to catch.

"I wonder what Ginny's up to right now."

"Dunno," Harry muttered. It seemed such an odd change of conversation. If Harry had been expecting him to say anything he would have guessed it would be about the letter.

"Sorry?" asked Dean.

"I dunno," Harry repeated louder, looking over his shoulder.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him in question then shook his head like Harry had said something crazy. "Right, well, night Harry."

"Night, Dean," replied Harry, but he had already left.

Then, trying as hard as he could not to think and enforcing all his Occulmency skills, Harry shut down his mind and forced himself to sleep.

He did not dream.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far and to everyone who's added me to their story alerts. Even though there were more story alerts than reviews it still makes me happy to know how many people are following Serpent Tales :)_

**Chapter 06 – Fire Draught**

Harry woke alone the next morning for which he was glad. Usually he and Ron dressed and went down to breakfast together but today Ron had left him sleeping. But then, Ron had seemed a bit more distracted than was usual as of late. Harry wondered with bemusement if Ron had kissed a Slytherin and burned for an evening too. If he had, Harry was certain he'd never find out about it. This wasn't something he would be willing to share either.

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, a new thought striking him. He may not have to share it—probably Malfoy already had. Probably, Malfoy had already told the entire school. Probably, he was sitting down in the Great Hall right now, mocking Harry and laughing at his expense.

Groaning, Harry debated staying in bed for the rest of the day. He might have if he hadn't remembered that he'd ignored Dumbledore's letter yesterday. In the clarity of a new day, a fresh start, the guilt he hadn't felt last night for his offense welled in him now. He should go apologize. And besides, between a disappointed Dumbledore and an entire student body judging him by his newly discovered sexual orientation, he'd take Dumbledore.

* * *

"Enter," said the familiar voice, now laced with an unfamiliar heart-turning discontentment.

Pushing open the heavy door Harry was greeted with the sight of Dumbledore, his wand once again imbedded in the snake-like instrument he'd called a Reader. Dumbledore seemed bowed under the information the Reader was giving him, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed. Harry waited silently until he straightened.

Without looking at him, Dumbledore removed his wand and circled his desk to take a seat. Harry sat too, unsure what to say.

"I can make neither head nor tails of it, Harry," Dumbledore finally said.

"Sir?"

Dumbledore's eyes met his and they looked sad—old. "The Reader has finally raised more questions than it's answered. I can't figure it out this time. Its message has eluded me and it has become frustrated with me."

Harry's eyes widened. "You speak of it like a sentient being."

"Oh yes," agreed Dumbledore. "When you're connected to the Reader, it feels quite like having a second brain in your skull; one that you have no control over—that has thoughts and feelings separate from your own thoughts and feelings."

"Seems like a great headache," Harry mumbled.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Then he said; "But I believe you have something you wanted to say."

"Yes," Harry said, bowing his head with sudden remembered shame. "I wanted to apologize, sir—for ignoring your letter last night."

"And why did you ignore it, Harry?"

"I was—er, well, I just...was tired."

Dumbledore tilted his head, spied Harry through his half-moon spectacles. His eyes seemed probing, like they could see right through Harry's half-truth. Harry was suddenly struck by how quiet it was.

"Understandable," said Dumbledore after a time. "It occurs to me that I never do consider whether the times that are best for me are best for you, though I do put in effort to ensure my requests don't overlap with any of your previous engagements. Perhaps you would like to draw up a schedule with me?"

The guilt Harry felt doubled. Dumbledore was too kind, too accommodating, when Harry had bluntly ignored him without even a reason.

"No sir," Harry shook his head. "The arrangement we had before was fine. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for last night and that it won't happen again."

Dumbledore smiled. "Very well, Harry. I trust that it won't. And while you're here and I have some time to spare, what say you to completing the lesson I had planned for yesterday evening?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent." Dumbledore rose and summoned a cauldron and some potion supplies from a cupboard across the room. "We'll be brewing the Fire Draught today. It's a potion that you might have found handy in your first year."

"What does it do, Professor?"

"It allows the drinker to withstand great heat, even walking directly through flames."

Harry grinned at the memory of the obstacle course the Hogwarts professors had assembled in his first year to protect the Philosopher's stone. A Fire Draught surely would have been helpful to escape Snape's trial, had Hermione not been with him.

Dumbledore continued. "Fire is one of Voldemort's very favorite allies. Can you guess why?"

"Because it's destructive," Harry guessed. "And it spreads?"

"Yes, those are the most basic of reasons. But more because Voldemort is afraid of the dark."

Harry thought this sounded silly. Children were afraid of the dark, not the ruler of all evil wizards.

"Ignore your preconceptions, Harry," Dumbledore said, reading the thoughts on his face. "The dark means something different for us than it means for Voldemort."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"What does the dark mean to you?"

Harry shrugged. "Nighttime."

"Precisely. Plain and simple. Darkness means the sun has gone down, the moon has come up, and it's time to rest, peaceful in our beds. For Voldemort, darkness means the demons of his past are chasing him."

"The people he murdered?"

"Those," Dumbledore nodded. "And the people he tortured, the ones he hurt, the ones he turned against him and his cause—all of these directly and indirectly."

Harry was confused. "Do you mean he regrets all of that, then?"

"Absolutely not. Voldemort doesn't not have enough of a soul to feel something as glorious and painful as regret. No, he _fears_ all of that. He fears retribution. And so he favors the bright company of fire, to chase away the nightmares. And he attacks and kills with fire in hope that it might snuff the dark before it is born.

"Which is why," Dumbledore continued, his voice newly invigorated. "I will be teaching you how to brew the Fire Draught. After drinking it you can step through Voldemort's light and become his darkness."

Harry laughed and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "We will begin with shredding a knot of fluxweed."

Hours passed and Harry grew sweaty and hungry. Dumbledore kept his office well insolated so that heat pressed in on all sides of the potion, as the instructions stated. And as the office grew warmer, the instructions grew more precise.

Add exactly three hairs from the leg of a bumblebee. Give three and one half stirs clockwise and a quarter stir counterclockwise. Use a syringe to insert one teaspoon of Fanged Geranium poison into the bubble forming at the bottom of the cauldron. And on and on until Harry was sure there was no ingredient they hadn't yet added.

Twice Dumbledore expressed dissatisfaction, claiming the potion wasn't exactly the right shade or didn't smell exactly right. He assured Harry that if it wasn't perfect, if he couldn't fix these mistakes, he would burn when he tested the final results. And Dumbledore would make him test it, whether he'd gotten it right or not. That was how his potion lessons with Dumbledore always ended—with either failure or triumph.

Today Harry longed for triumph and did all he could to rectify his errors. He had no desire to feel even a slight reminder of the hours he'd spent burning only yesterday.

Then, finally, Dumbledore declared him done.

"There is no more you can do," he said and Harry's heart felt like lead in his chest. Surely that meant he had failed.

Dumbledore offered a full ladle to Harry. The potion was almost clear, tinged yellow, and still boiling even though Harry had extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron almost an hour ago. He accepted the potion with trembling hands and drank it. It slipped like ice water down his throat.

Raising his wand, Dumbledore conjured a rounded, shallow dish and then a single, flickering orange flame. It danced in the center, crackling and taunting.

"Run your hand through," Dumbledore instructed. "I have a salve prepared should it burn you."

Harry wasn't worried about lasting effects. He trusted Dumbledore to heal him quickly and efficiently. But the pain of fire was an all too recent memory.

He hesitated and then whipped his hand over the flame so quickly that it's grappling fingers had no time to find purchase. A faint streak of soot ran the length of his palm but other than that he was unmarked.

"Again," said Dumbledore.

Harry knew what he really meant: slower. He obeyed.

This time he lowered his hand from a foot above the flame, slowly, slowly. Any second he should feel the faint warmth elevating, burning, scalding. And then his hand was in the fire, it licked up and around, dancing over the back of his hand. It was faintly warm, like a second hand holding his, caressing his skin. It tickled with tiny kisses and Harry turned his hand over, scooping it up, petting it.

"How strange," Dumbledore commented. "And I was sure you added too much hellebore. An old man's mistake, perhaps."

Harry smiled, playing with the fire. He dumped it from one hand to the other and bounced it on his palm like a ball. "Excellent," he hummed and Dumbledore smiled. But Harry noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well done, Harry," he said. "I suppose this means we won't have to repeat the lesson. One down, countless more to go. That will be all. Feel free to take the fire, but do extinguish it when you're finished."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, leaving the office with the fire wound between his fingers.

He passed through the castle this way, absorbed by the flame and his thoughts, not watching where he was going or who he passed. Then, a voice called him and his eyes widened with worry. Ron was jogging around the corner, catching up, and Harry thought he knew why he looked so eager. Surely he wanted reassurance that the rumors he'd been hearing weren't real—that Harry hadn't actually snogged Draco Malfoy.

Harry's heart felt lodged in his throat as Ron skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Quidditch practice today, Harry?" he asked excitedly.

Gasping a sigh of relief Harry smiled, bringing his hand back up and resuming his play with the fire.

"Bloody hell! How're you doing that?" cried Ron. He made to reach for the flame but cringed back from its heat.

Harry grinned. "Fire Draught. I just brewed it with Dumbledore. It allows me touch anything, no matter how hot, without getting hurt."

"Brilliant!"

"Yeah, but listen to this," Harry said, dropping his voice.

He explained quickly about what Dumbledore had said about the inadequacy of his obviously perfect potion.

"Well it's gotta be like he said, an old man's mistake. Right?"

"I dunno, Ron," whispered Harry. "When has Dumbledore ever been wrong?"

"Bloody hell," Ron mumbled again.

Just then a group of Slytherin girls whisked by, offering no reaction to Harry or Ron's existence. This distracted Harry.

"Er...has Malfoy been...er, saying anything about me today?"

"Wha—" Ron shook his head like he was banishing a pesky fly. "Nah, haven't seen him all day."

"He wasn't at breakfast?" Harry asked.

"Nope. Why?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he reflected on this new knowledge. Ron interrupted his thoughts in an oddly quiet but aggressive voice.

"Who gives a toss about Malfoy? I wanna play some damn Quidditch!"

Harry shot him a glare. It was a rather rude way of him to say it. "Fine," he said. "Let's just get some lunch first."

Ron's eyes went wide and then he flushed scarlet. His next words were barely a whisper: "Did I say that out loud?"

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief, then led the way to the Great Hall.

"Is it just me," Harry talked over his shoulder to Ron. "Or has everyone forgotten their manners lately?"

"Sorry mate," said Ron, catching up. "I didn't really mean to say that out loud."

"You said that already," Harry muttered, feeling like that was no excuse for his bluntness.

"I know I did, but like I'm trying to say, I didn't mean to. Errant thought, y'know?"

Harry gave him a look. "You sound like a broken record, Ron."

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

Ron gaped at him, face full of confusion. Then he shook his head and kept moving. "Nevermind," he murmured. "So did Hermione tell you that she skived off a Prefect meeting? Some Head Girl, eh? Thought I don't blame her with Malfoy milling about."

He laughed and Harry joined him, forgetting about their little tiff and enjoying some time with his best friend.

When they arrived at the Great Hall Harry found it unusually loud, like the common room had been the night before. It was so earsplitting, in fact, that he jammed his fingers in his ears, though this did very little. He glanced around as he took his seat, expecting all eyes on him. He must be the source of the outburst. Maybe, for some unfathomable reason, Malfoy had waited until lunch to spread the news.

But he received no more stares than usual, though some were bewildered by his fingers in his ears. He removed them cautiously as he scanned the Slytherin table. Malfoy was not there. How very odd.

He turned to Ron, surprised to not find him also cringing at the noise level, and asked; "Where do you suppose Malfoy is?"

Ron shrugged, filling his plate to overflowing. "Probably off shagging some tart. I hope his boinker falls off." He laughed raucously at his own joke. Harry found it a little crude, even for Ron, but was amused.

Or that must be what the warmth spreading over his face meant, because he refused to believe that after one bloody kiss even a mention of Malfoy's 'boinker' would spark anything other than disgust in him. Yes, he could now admit he was gay. Yes, Malfoy's kiss had been the cause of that acceptance. But there was no way in hell he would be the result of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 07 – Glittering, Golden Greatcoat**

Three days passed. Not much changed. Ron was still slightly distant. When Harry asked him what he'd been up to Ron muttered excuses and fled the room before Harry could question him further.

Hermione was slowly becoming more rebellious. Twice already she had put her evening castle patrols on the new Prefects for no reason other than because she could. Yesterday she didn't have McGonagall's essay finished to hand in. Harry hadn't gotten around to questioning her yet. He was still reveling in his newly relaxed relationship with her—one in which she wasn't constantly bugging him about his responsibilities.

Malfoy had neither spread rumors about Harry nor had he even been sighted in the Great Hall, classes, or the corridors. While Harry became increasingly curious, Hermione and Ron had both agreed the less Malfoy the better and shrugged the anomaly off. Harry wished he could do the same, if only because his head ached every time he dwelled too much on it—particularly his right temple.

The rest of the school was behaving as oddly as ever. At first Harry had tried to ignore all the strange conversations he was overhearing. But as they grew progressively more bizarre and embarrassing he starting confiding in Ron and Hermione. He was surprised to find that they hadn't heard any of the same conversations.

"You say she was counting days?" Hermione asked.

The three were stowed away in a dark corner of the library, hidden in the dustiest stacks where they wouldn't be overheard. Ron and Harry were working on Snape's latest essay. Hermione was defiantly knitting elf hats instead. Harry had caught Ron smothering his proud grin more than once.

Harry nodded confirmation to Hermione's question.

"Well that's easy to understand. She was probably calculating when she would next start."

"You're kidding!" Ron gaped. "Girl's can calculate that stuff? I thought it was just random!"

Instead of pursing her lips as she might once have done, Hermione giggled. "Of course we can! Don't you know anything about girls?"

"I'm working on it..." Ron mumbled. Hermione must not have heard him because Harry was sure she would comment on such an embarrassing thing to say.

Harry shook his head. "Anyway, that's not the point! Why she would even be talking about it in the middle of class is what I want to know. Is that normal for girls, then?"

Hermione thought about it. "I suppose it is normal for us to discuss it amongst ourselves sometimes. Certainly when we're nervous about being late or—"

"I don't need to hear about that, Hermione," Harry groaned. Girl talk was never something he particularly enjoyed. "In the _middle _of the lesson, though?"

"No, that is a bit odd," Hermione frowned.

"And that's not all," confessed Harry. "Yesterday I heard Dean talking about the things he'd done the night before with Gin—er," Harry glanced at Ron, whose eyes were narrowed to slits. "With his girlfriend."

Hermione looked angry too. "That's just rude! He should keep their private life private. Boys!"

"But Ginny was talking about it too!"

Hermione gaped. "With Dean?"

"No, they were separate occasions. And with separate people."

Neither Ron nor Hermione had anything to say to that but Harry heard Hermione whispering about 'possible bourgeoning voyeuristic inclinations' and Ron was quietly fuming about Dean and his little sister. They paid one another's opinions no mind.

"And it's stuff like that," Harry continued. "That I've been hearing all over the castle—from everyone; just a whole bunch of little comments that people used to keep _private_. And for good reason, too. Like anyone wants to hear when Eleanor Branstone has her next—well. Yeah." Harry scowled.

"No," agreed Hermione. "No one does want to hear about that. I would have even thought Eleanor wouldn't want anyone to hear about—" She cut off suddenly, her eyes going wide.

"What, Hermione?" Ron cajoled, laying his quill down and looking excited. Whenever Hermione got that look in her eye it usually meant some big realization had struck her.

"Harry," said Hermione, ignoring Ron. "Could it possibly be that you're able to hear everyone's thoughts?"

Harry gawked at her. "What?" He almost laughed, but he wasn't feeling humorous. "That's ridiculous, Hermione. Legilimency takes effort. I'd have to be focusing and trust me, I am _not_ trying to wheedle sex secrets out of anyone."

Ron was looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione in confusion. Hermione was wearing an expression of shock mingled with triumph.

"What are you on about?" Ron finally demanded.

"You heard her," scoffed Harry. "She thinks I'm reading minds."

"Ron didn't hear me," Hermione whispered. Then, speaking louder, shouting—bellowing; "LISTEN TO ME, HARRY."

Harry slapped his hands over his ears but her voice still rang like a gong. He shot from his seat, expecting faces to peer through the books, Madame Pince to storm over and demand they leave. Nothing happened. No one came. There was only Ron and Hermione; Ron's mouth hanging open at Harry's odd behavior; Hermione beaming.

"What the fuck is going on?" whispered Ron. Harry glanced quickly at Hermione, expecting her to scold Ron for his language. No matter how laid-back she was becoming, she still didn't tolerate his crude tongue.

"Listen to me, Harry," Hermione said again, quieter. "Look at me. My mouth is not moving. I'm no ventriloquist, Harry. You're in my head. You're hearing my thoughts."

"What the fuck is going on?" Ron repeated. "What the fuck is going on? What the fuck is going on? What the fuck is going—"

"Shut _up_, Ron!" shouted Harry.

This time the noise echoed through the tightly lined bookshelves. This time a Ravenclaw fifth year glared at Harry from a few aisles over. This time, Madame Pince bustled over and shoved and whacked at them until they fled the library.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?!" Ron demanded when they finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, panting from running.

The Fat Lady squawked and Hermione said "Ronald!" but Ron just glared determinedly at Harry, waiting for an answer.

"I can hear thoughts," Harry breathed.

* * *

"Concentrate, Harry!" Hermione implored for the hundredth time.

"I am!" cried Harry.

"Then try again."

Harry turned away from her, facing the opposite side of the abandoned classroom they had found to be away from the evening bustle of the common room. Ron sat on a desk across from him, watching the two interact silently. Harry waited, listening.

"Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat," said Hermione.

"Spoken," Harry guessed.

"Wrong! Thought."

Harry groaned and turned around to face Hermione again. "This is pointless! What does it matter? I want to block out your thoughts, not tell them apart from your voice!"

"You can't do one without the other," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

Harry growled. "And what makes you the expert on mind reading, Miss Know-It-All?"

Hermione glared at him and Harry relented beneath her. Of course he believed her judgment. When had Hermione ever led him astray?

"I'll never be able to distinguish it," moaned Harry. "It sounds exactly the same!"

"Of course it doesn't, Harry," Hermione said encouragingly. "Does it sound the same to you when you talk aloud and talk in your head?"

Harry thought about it. He repeated the tongue twister in his head and then out loud. Then he moaned again and pulled at his hair.

"Well it's going to sound different when I do it! I can feel my tongue and lips moving—feel the vibrations of my voice in my throat and head."

Hermione smiled. "Then feel the vibrations of _my_ voice."

She turned around then, faced away from him so he couldn't see whether or not her lips were moving. Then the words came:

"Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat."

And this time Harry focused all his attention on his ears, feeling them with his mind, tracing their shape, inside and out. He felt for each individual nerve ending, traveling inside, spiraling through the canal, touching—like a whisper—his eardrum.

It vibrated. Just the tiniest flicker—the tiniest tingle.

"Spoken," he said confidently.

"Again," Hermione said.

But no. She didn't say it. He felt this one too, felt her next words sweep over him like a butterfly caress, felt it swirling through his mind, touching his brain, the backs of his eyes, passing right over his ears. Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat. It echoed—if he wanted it to. It shouted—if he made it. It whispered—if he asked it to. He could manipulate it, twist it, move it.

"Again," he whispered this time.

She thought it again.

_Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat._

He was sure this time. He turned the volume of her thoughts up and down as she thought them. When she thought 'giggling' he made her voice titter. When she thought 'glittering' she thought it deep, in a man's voice. 'Golden' she thought in the highest pitch a woman's voice could reach. He could twist the noise like he could twist his own thoughts—they were his thoughts, in his head. He took them as she made them, claimed them, stored them away. Memories. His and hers.

And like his, he could also eliminate them; push them out of his head. He was good at this—occlumency. He tried it now, erecting that great brick wall that wrapped right around his brain. Usually he used it to keep his thoughts in. Now he would use it to keep her thoughts out. It would work. Brick walls did both.

"Again," he repeated. Hermione did too, thinking.

Or he assumed she did.

"Again," he said more urgently. Nothing happened. "_Again!_ Come on, Hermione, louder!"

He spun around. Hermione was pink in the face. A vein pulsed in her neck. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, staring intently at him. Harry looked at Ron. He looked confused and Harry wondered if he was cursing again. He dropped his wall to find out.

_—GIGGLING GARGOYLE A GALLEON FOR HIS GLITTERING—_

Harry threw his wall back up. He cringed, mentally massaging his brain after the onslaught. Then, he refocused on Ron. He looked worried now. Harry wondered why. He wanted to know but he didn't want Hermione screaming in his head. It was a challenge he was eager to face.

In his mind he crafted a door in his wall. On it he printed the name Ronald Weasley. For good measure he stamped on a warning: Hermione, keep out!

Smiling but wary, he cracked the door and looked at Ron expectantly.

_--she still in his head? Is she still saying the tongue twister? What are they talking about? Get out of her head, Harry!_

Harry's eyes widened and then he laughed out loud. Hermione let out a great gust of breath behind him.

"What?" she panted. "What's so funny?"

Harry ignored her. "I couldn't hear," he assured Ron.

Ron froze. Then, slowly, he relaxed, letting a tiny, apologetic grin slip over his mouth.

"Did you figure it out, Harry?" Hermione asked impatiently. _Can you tell the difference between voice and thought?_

"Better," Harry said. "I can block it out."

For good measure, he restored his wall. In fact, now that he knew he could use doors, he would keep the wall in place for good. He'd had enough of unwanted thoughts in his head. He would give Hogwarts back its privacy.

"Harry!" Hermione suddenly shouted.

Harry jumped. "What?"

Beaming, she ran at him and threw her arms around his neck. "Good job, Harry! I knew you could do it!"

In his mind Harry saw Ron's door. He cringed away from it—wary. He didn't have to hear it to know what Ron was thinking. He pulled Hermione away gently, patting her awkwardly on the head.

"Thanks, Hermione." Then he turned and gave Ron a friendly smile. Ron's face went from anger to embarrassment and then he smiled too.


	8. Chapter 8

_WARNING: Here begins the explicit sex warned in the story summary. It is ALL going to be slash. That means boy/boy. If this offends you, don't read it. Simple as that. _

**Chapter 08 – Silver Serpent**

Later that evening in the common room, almost one hour after Harry had learn to control the thoughts flowing through his head, he had created over a dozen doors, each with a different name on it. While Ron finished Snape's essay and Hermione researched different kinds of mind reading, Harry sat back and explored his new talent. He found it refreshing to leave his own life behind in favor of experiencing someone else's.

For a while he had merely listened to Ron and Hermione. He'd felt scrupulous about prying into another person's privacy without their knowledge. After his boredom reached such a peak that he actually became angry with his best friends' dull minds he made an agreement with himself. As long as he never shared anyone's secrets, their privacy was still in tact. All would be none the wiser.

So he had begun rifling through the heads spread throughout the common room.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were thinking about the same thing—boys. A group of third years had their brains packed with facts about Grindylows for Lupin's class. Colin Creevey had his forehead pressed against the window, watching Hagrid digging up the earth in front of his hut and wondering what he was doing. All of these people and more now had their own personal doors in Harry's head and all were sealed shut for the time being.

Currently, Harry was having trouble prying himself out of the head of his beater, Jimmy Peakes. He had discovered that Peakes was, like Harry, a closeted gay. More than that, Peakes was having a secret affair with a Slytherin seventh year; none other than Blaise Zabini, known best friend to Draco Malfoy. At the moment, Peakes was reliving his latest tryst with Zabini instead of finishing his homework. Harry was mesmerized by the image...

_"Oh, god, Blaise," Peakes moaned, arching up into Zabini's mouth._

_Zabini smirked around him and Peakes shuddered when he received an extra tongue stroke down the vein on the bottom side of his shaft. By now, Zabini knew just what he liked and gave it to him. Within moments, Peakes could feel his balls tightening and just when he was about to explode, Zabini wrapped his forefinger and thumb around the base of his erection._

_Peakes groaned. "No," he gasped. "Let me—"_

_His words were caught in his throat when Zabini nipped at his knob, his teeth grazing over the skin there._

_"Shh," Zabini breathed as he slid up Peakes's body, still holding his orgasm at bay._

_He covered Peakes's mouth with his own and kissed him hard, probing his mouth dominatingly. Then, when Peakes had just forgotten about the cruel teasing, Zabini slammed home._

_Peakes cried out, his shout smothered by Zabini's mouth. He should have known—should have been ready—but somehow Zabini always caught him off guard. It had happened so many times now. Zabini never liked to prepare Peakes, preferring the fresh tightness of a rested arse, as he said. At first it hurt like hell. Now the majority of the pain came from the shock, because Zabini was so good at distracting Peakes—/i_so_i good. _

_"That's it," Zabini grunted. "Take it."_

_"Ahh," Peakes moaned, pain tingling into pleasure as Zabini thrust into him over and over, rocking his body forward and back. _

_Zabini leaned his head down and latched his mouth over Peakes's nipple, biting down hard. Peakes gasped at the mingled feelings mixing in him. He slid his fingers up Zabini's back, enjoying the sensation of working muscles flexing and relaxing under his hands. Then he tangled them in Zabini's hair, tugging and pushing as Zabini came and went._

_Suddenly, Zabini pulled all the way out. But before Peakes could protest, strong hands were prying under him, flipping him over. He obeyed, rolling, propping up on his hands and knees._

_Zabini's right hand landed on Peakes's neck, pushing until his elbows were forced to collapse so his forehead was pressed into the mattress. At the same time, his left hand came down hard on his arse, stinging his skin and—he was sure—turning it red. Without hesitation Zabini slammed back into him. _

_Bent in half, Zabini flattened himself over Peakes's sloping back. He bit his neck, bit between his shoulder blades, nipped down his spine, all the while bucking in tiny little thrusts that shook Peakes tantalizingly. _

_When Zabini reached the top of his arse he straightened up on his knees and began thrusting in full, replacing his hand around the base of Peakes's aching cock. Peakes couldn't even find his voice to protest. Zabini was fully seated inside him, balls to balls. Then he was gone, the ridge of his head catching achingly good on the tight ring of Peakes's arsehole. Back again, his rigid prick jabbing Peakes's sweet spot ruthlessly. _

_Then, without warning, Zabini ripped out and exploded over Peakes's back and arse, dripping down over his sac. For a short minute, Zabini graced Peakes with his tongue, jabbing it through the mess and into his abused hole. _

_"God, please!" Peakes cried._

_Zabini pushed him over onto his back again, his hand still denying Peakes his release. _

_"That's right," Zabini said in a husky voice. "I'm your god."_

_Then his fingers released Peakes and slid down, caressing his perineum with two knuckles— _

_Uh oh._

Harry looked up suddenly, eyes wide, and just barely caught sight of Peakes's cloak whipping out of sight as he ran for his dormitory. Harry would have snickered...if he hadn't been in the exact same situation.

Frantically, he dropped his mind barrier as he rearranged his trousers, desperately hoping for distractions. He was thrashed from all sides by thoughts. Some embarrassing, some tedious, one intriguing.

_—wish Madame Pomfrey could have spared more time. This bite still looks pretty nasty. Damn Filch and his dumb cat. And damn Malfoy for hogging the nurse!_

"Huh," Harry said in a quiet voice, his previous problem all but forgotten. "Apparently Malfoy's in the hospital wing."

"How'd you know that?" Ron asked, looking up. Hermione did too.

Harry nodded over his shoulder. "Mrs. Norris bit that third year over there—Abercrombie, I think."

Ron looked boggled. Hermione asked "what does that have to do with Malfoy?"

"He went to the hospital wing to have it healed," explained Harry. "And Madame Pomfrey couldn't spare much time for him. Said she was busy with Malfoy."

Hermione pursed her lips at Harry's apparent prying but Ron looked awed and curious. "What's wrong with him, then?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Abercrombie doesn't know. The curtains were drawn. Listen," he dropped his voice and bent his head closer. "I'm going to get my dad's cloak and find out—"

"Harry," Hermione protested. "It's almost past curfew."

Ron rolled his eyes. "What happened to No-Worries-Hermione?"

Hermione looked unusually abashed as she turned back to her research. When she looked away, Ron flushed in embarrassment. If Harry hadn't been so curious about Malfoy he might have peered into their minds to discover the cause of their odd behavior.

"I'll tap you on the shoulder when I'm ready," he said to Ron instead, then bolted up the staircase for his cloak.

A minute later, Ron let him out of the common room so he wouldn't attract attention.

"Thought I heard someone out there," he heard Ron say by way of explanation for opening the portrait hole but not leaving. Then Harry was out of earshot and racing silently down the corridor.

Because he hadn't thought to bring the Marauders' Map, he experimented with a new way of protection. Dropping his brick wall, he reached out with his mind, encouraging any foreign thoughts to join his, hoping he could hear them before their owners could hear him. Then—

_—loosen chandeliers? Check. Upturn dustbins? Check. Peevesy, wee Peevesy. You naughty boy, you! You scare all the children and what do they do?_

Harry dodged behind a suit of armor just before Peeves came spiraling around the corner, squealing and screaming like a frightened child. Then he zoomed out of sight and Harry continued down the corridor, grinning at the discovery of this new use of his skills.

When he reached the hospital wing the doors were closed and locked.

"Alohomora," he whispered, tapping his wand on the lock. The doors clicked open and he slid in through the smallest gap he could manage.

The wing was empty and dim, the only light provided by the moonlight streaming in through the high windows. The light touched everything—except for one cot, around which the curtains were drawn. Harry crept silently forward and slid into the hidden space.

There lay the elusive Draco Malfoy, pale as bone and with a peacefulness on his face that Harry had never seen before. Sleep transformed the evil boy into an angel and Harry had to catch his breath. How could he have never noticed Malfoy's beauty before this?

He drank him in; his lavender eyelids, his pink lips, his silky hair, his pointy nose, his sharp collarbones, his narrow waist. And then Harry noticed that the waist seemed _too_ narrow, his collarbones _too _sharp, and—though it was alluring—his skin was _too_ pale. He looked wasted and tired, even in sleep, with evidence of a good sized dinner on the bedside table.

What illness ails him, Harry wondered. Then he created a new door, and with meticulous care, etched the name 'Draco Malfoy' into it.

When he cracked it, golden light flooded through it and warmed him from the inside out, heating his cheek, ear, temple. He knew it was only his imagination—it was an imaginary door. But mysteriously, this was the only change between door closed and door open—this strange, beautiful light. There was no noise, no thought.

Harry couldn't figure it out. He had two guesses. Either this was the effect of sleep on the mind, or Malfoy was brain damaged.

With light, wary fingers, Harry touched Malfoy's wrist, trying to wake him without startling him into suspicion. He reeled back at two sensations of incredible warmth and terrible pain shooting down the side of his face. Why was Malfoy's skin so warm when lately, everyone else's had felt so cool? And why did Malfoy give him a headache?

"Who's there?" Malfoy croaked, slitting his eyes open and staring in the completely wrong direction. "I heard you."

That was a lie. Malfoy should have said 'I felt you' because Harry had made no noise.

"I heard you," he said again, as if arguing Harry's thoughts.

With paranoia, Harry slammed Malfoy's door closed—it had remained silent anyway—and put a dead bolt on it, satisfying in the click that echoed in his head when he turned it.

You didn't hear me, Harry thought stubbornly, sure that Malfoy could no longer hear him, even if he somehow miraculously had before.

And yet again: "I heard you. Show yourself!"

With that, Harry turned and fled, not bothering to hide the pounding of his footsteps or the slamming of the door.

* * *

"Figure it out, Hermione," Harry panted, throwing off the invisibility cloak, thankful that the common room was now empty.

Hermione gasped at his sudden appearance. She was the only one still awake, still studying the books she'd found in the library on mind reading.

"What?" she asked.

Harry lurched over to her, clutched her wrists hysterically. "I need you to figure it out—this out. What I can do and why I can—"

"Harry!" cried Hermione, interrupting him. She jumped up, yanking her hand out of his and laying it across his forehead, then over his cheek. "You're burning up! Harry, you're on fire!"

Harry jerked back and spun around, looking at his back over his shoulder, looking down his front, holding up his arms. He looked at Hermione in confusion. "No I'm not."

She moved forward, touching his cheek again. She trailed her fingers up, pushing his hair away, until they caressed his right temple—the spot that had been throbbing unpleasantly since he'd touched Malfoy. Her eyes were alight with wonder as she stared at the place she stroked.

"What's this?" she breathed. "I recognize it."

"What?" Harry said, scrutinizing her face warily.

"There's something here."

"What is it?" asked Harry, his fingers joining hers, touching his skin. Nothing felt out of the ordinary.

"I don't know," admitted Hermione.

Quickly, she spun and dug through her book back. She pulled out a compact mirror and held it up for Harry. He adjusted the angle of it, turning her and him until the light of the dying embers lit his face.

There, tattooed in liquid silver over his right temple, twisting fluidly around the corner of his eye, was a three-tailed serpent, its tongue tasting the air. In the firelight it flickered and gleamed and gyrated erotically.

"What am I becoming?" Harry breathed, eyes wide in shock and horror.

Hermione laid her hand over his then cringed away as if she was burned. She rested it on his clothed elbow instead. "I'll find out," she promised. "But first, you have to tell me everything."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 09 – Sleeping Beauty**

To say that Harry was gloomy was an understatement. Disgruntled, bitter, irritable, peevish; all of these were better words to describe his mood. He was intolerable of absolutely everything the day after he saw Malfoy in the hospital wing. He gave death glares to passing glances, growled at anyone who came too close, bit off the heads of the ones daring enough to talk to him. And if anyone so much as looked at his new tattoo...well, that was when he really blew up.

Hermione and Harry had stayed up the entire night trying everything they could think of to remove or hide the three-tailed serpent. Absolutely nothing had worked.

So, at around seven o'clock, just before the early birds were bound to come down for breakfast, Hermione dug through her book bag for their last resort.

Now Harry sported a silver mermaid curled around his right eye.

It was shoddily done. Hermione was no artist. With a muggle marker she had filled in the gaps between the three tails, drew on a pair of arms, and widened the head into a vaguely humanoid shape. And, if one looked closely, the snake could still be detected beneath the surface of the marker. The original silver was an impossible color to match. Not because it was such a rare hue; only the original image seemed to be in perpetual motion. It sort of shimmered like liquid, or swirled like gas. No marker could duplicate that. Harry thought it might be pretty—if it weren't so goddamn annoying!

And if everyone would stop staring at it.

As Harry entered Transfiguration and took his seat before class, he tried to focus on the tiny silver lining. If Malfoy wasn't in the hospital wing at this moment, things would surely be much worse for him.

Currently, his fellow Gryffindors were shooting covert glances when they thought he wasn't looking. The Slytherins were all whispering and giggling among themselves, occasionally sneering over their shoulders or outright pointing at Harry's face. But Harry was sure that if they had their leader there, he would be doomed to suffer a much more blatant embarrassment.

"Settle down," Professor McGonagall said strictly, sweeping into the room. The Gryffindors fell silent. The Slytherins weren't so malleable.

"Hush!" McGonagall demanded again. She pivoted at the front of the room just in time to see Parkinson jab her thumb at Harry and giggle to her friend. McGonagall's eyes alighted upon Harry and her lips narrowed into a severe line.

"Mr. Potter, what's that you've got on your face?"

Half the classroom erupted into twitters.

Harry's face soured further. "It's a tattoo, Professor," he bit out.

McGonagall crossed the room to inspect it. "And who, pray tell, would give you such a thing?"

"Erm..."

"I gave it to him, Professor," Hermione said boldly, holding her head up.

More whispers, even the Gryffindors this time. Book worm and Head Girl Hermione Granger was a tattoo artist?

McGonagall's eyes widened at this news. "Miss. Granger, I...Well, I suppose you're within your rights to do whatever you please in your free time. However, it is against Hogwarts dress code and so I'm going to have to glamour it, Mr. Potter."

She pulled out her wand and muttered the spell. At the same time, Harry heard a whisper at his side. The classroom fell silent.

"It's a magical tattoo, Professor," Hermione said. "It's impervious to all glamour charms."

Harry noticed her wand hidden under the desk and was grateful for her quick thinking. If she hadn't blocked McGonagall's glamour, the marker would have become invisible while the serpent still showed.

McGonagall's mouth was a white line. "In that case, Mr. Potter, I must ask you to visit the hospital wing immediately and have it removed. And five points from Gryffindor for poor choices."

Hermione's shoulders slumped once McGonagall had turned around. Harry scowled, scooped up his bag, and stormed out of the room. So what if anyone interpreted his anger as a particular attachment to the poncey mermaid on his face?

* * *

Harry skipped the remainder of his classes in favor of returning to the library and picking up where Hermione left off in research. He was finally joined by Ron mid-afternoon.

"Lucky you missed potions, really," he said, dropping his bag and looking down at Harry, surrounded by open books. "Snape was a git!"

Harry said nothing, not pausing in his frantic search through every book he could lay his hands on. He was desperate. He felt like a caged animal. Moisture welled beneath his eyes when he realized that was exactly what he had become. He was caged by his own magic, something that had once been his savior.

"Harry?" Ron prodded, sensing Harry's mood.

Dropping his head into the book he was currently reading, Harry moaned in distressed agony. Ron plopped into the seat next to him and patted his back awkwardly.

"All right, Harry?" he said softly, encouragingly.

Harry tilted his head so his voice wouldn't be muffled by the useless pages. "I don't know what to do, Ron. I can't go around with this _thing_ on my face and I can't stay out of sight to keep it hidden. I'm stuck, and the worst part is I don't even know _why_! I don't know what's happening to me or who I'm becoming!"

Ron's face softened. "It'll be okay, mate. Hermione and I will always be here. We'll figure this out together."

Frazzled, confused, and distraught, Harry said the first biting thought that came to his mind. "Would you still be here if you knew I was gay?" he asked bitterly. "A ponce? Poofer? A _bender_?"

Ron reeled back as though slapped. "Blimey, Harry," Ron muttered. "What are you saying?"

Harry gave Ron a watery smirk. "How can I be more clear? I snogged Malfoy—and I _liked_ it."

Ron's jaw dropped and he fell utterly silent. He remained this way for so long that Harry turned back to his books, now feeling disgust and sadness more than anger. Ron would never forgive him that. They would never breach this wall together, he was sure.

Finally, Harry snapped his book closed and leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh. He folded his hands behind his neck and shut his eyes, struggling to hold his emotions at bay. Then he felt a light touch on his knee. He cracked one eye to see Ron's hand fluttering over him, unsure where it should rest. He finally brought it down over the table directly in front of Harry, avoiding making contact at all.

"I don't care," Ron said suddenly but with conviction. "I don't give a bleeding rat's arse what you like, Harry. You could fancy house elves for all I care and I'd still...well I wouldn't really support that relationship but I wouldn't abandon you."

Harry saw fire in Ron's eyes as fire flared up his neck and around his ears, red as his hair. It wasn't easy for him, Harry could see that. But he was a true friend.

With a tiny, wavering smile, Harry nudged Ron's shoulder gratefully.

Ron snorted amusedly. "Ah, what the hell," he shrugged, and threw his arms around Harry and knocked him on the back a few times. "I just wish," he said after they'd both sat back awkwardly. "That you'd kiss anyone other than Malfoy."

Together, Harry and Ron sniggered and guffawed their way into hysterics.

"Come on," Ron finally said, sobering. "Let's figure out what kind of freak you're turning into."

An hour later they were joined by Hermione, just out of Arithmancy, and the three worked their way through the rows of books late into the evening until they were kicked out of the library by Madame Pince. They were walking back to the common room, each heaving as many library books as they could manage, when Ron spoke.

"Hey, Harry, did you ever find out what was wrong with Malfoy yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah," grunted Harry, struggling under the weight of his books. "I guess it just looks like a cold or something. He's running a pretty good fever. I mean, if I can tell then he must be hot."

They had discovered that what Harry had been interpreting as everything he touched feeling cooler than usual was actually him, running at a much hotter temperature than usual. After her initial shock last night, Hermione had insisted he visit Madame Pomfrey. Harry had refused. Obviously it was another side effect of whatever was happening to him. He had begun noticing it around the time he'd begun hearing minds.

"I hope he has scrofungulus," mumbled Ron. Hermione giggled but Harry frowned.

"Is a side effect of scrofungulus brain damage?" he asked.

Ron furrowed his brow. "Not that I know of."

"No, it's not," Hermione agreed. "Why, Harry?"

"Well, when I tried to hear Malfoy...I just couldn't. Nothing came through the door except some weird light. I just wondered if maybe it was a cause of his illness."

Immediately, Ron started laughing. Hermione seemed to be thinking hard.

"But at the same time it couldn't be brain damage."

Ron went silent, looking disgruntled.

"Because," continued Harry, ignoring him. "He woke up when I was there. And he spoke. So he must be okay."

"He spoke?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked abashed. "Well, yes. He must have sensed me or something because he kept saying 'I hear you'." He barked a laugh. "What a wanker. I know for a fact I didn't make any noise."

Hermione ignored this. "And you say you could feel that he was running a fever?"

"Yes," Harry agreed warily. "But I could probably feel it if you or Ron were running a fever too. I mean, just because I run a few degrees hotter now doesn't mean I can't feel temperature change."

"How warm was he, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Shockingly warm," he admitted.

Unconsciously, the three had stopped walking. Ron was staring around his stack of books with wide eyes, looking between Harry and Hermione.

"I see where you're going with this," Harry mumbled. "Do you think there was something in that alcove? Maybe a gas or...or...I dunno, something? Something that affected us both?"

Hermione nodded but seemed distracted. "Maybe. Something."

"Let's find out," Harry said eagerly. "It's just around this corner."

He dropped his books, which scattered nosily over Ron's and Hermione's feet, then sprinted up the corridor. He heard the crashes of two more stacks of books and footsteps pounding behind him. When he skidded to a stop outside the tapestry he swung out his arm to stop Ron and Hermione.

"If there's something in there that causes...this. Well, you two shouldn't go in."

Ron looked put out but Hermione nodded sagely.

"Tell me what to do, Hermione," Harry said.

"There's a few spells you can use; revealing charms. Here—" She dug a hand into her robe pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment and quill. Quickly, she scribbled a few spells across it and thrust it into Harry's hand. "Good luck," she whispered.

With a curt nod, Harry pulled back the tapestry and stepped into the alcove.

It was exactly the same as he remembered it; dim, stuffy, and completely empty. There were no paintings on the walls, no statues in the corners, no windows, and no passageways. Contrarily, he slowly felt his way around, groping for what was not there. When this proved fruitless, he moved back to the center and pulled out his wand.

"_Specialis Revelio_!" he said, reading from Hermione's parchment.

Nothing.

"_Finite Incantatem_!"

Still nothing.

"_Appareo! Aparecium! Dissendium!_" And on and on until Harry depleted every spell Hermione had scribbled, including a few of his own.

And yet he remained standing there, looking around him, running his fingers over the blurred image on the back of the tapestry, over the rough stone where he had pinned Malfoy.

He could remember it all so clearly still; the bad...and the good.

The bad—so bad—the burning. It was a pain he couldn't find an equal to. Breaking all the bones in his arm—having them regrown; falling off his broom fifty feet in the air; getting hit repeatedly by the Whomping Willow; the cruccio curse Voldemort himself had cast on him. Nothing had hurt as badly as that burning.

And yet there was good to remember in that evening. Because Malfoy's kiss had somehow, astoundingly been good.

And then it clicked.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, running for the tapestry.

"Harry?!" Hermione called back, frantically.

She ripped open the tapestry just as he reached it, eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay? Did you find anything?"

"No," he brushed off her questions. "There's nothing to be found. It wasn't caused by the alcove. Listen, do you know the legend of Sleeping Beauty?"

"Sleeping who?" asked Ron at the same time Hermione said "of course".

"Sleeping Beauty," explained Harry. "It's a muggle story about a princess cursed to eternal sleep."

"Fancy that, muggles know about the Draught of Living Death," Ron said humorously.

Harry shook his head. "That's not the point. The point is the end of the story. To wake her, she had to be kissed by her true love. The kiss broke the curse."

"Well that's not the Draught of Living Death at all then," mumbled Ron.

Harry ignored him. "What if, like in the story, this curse"—he gestured to himself—"was linked to a kiss. Only, instead of breaking it, the kiss triggered it."

"Are you saying Malfoy cursed you?" asked Ron, scowling. "Because if you think so, I have no problem with murdering the slimy—oy! Where're you going?"

"I've just thought of something!" Hermione shouted over her shoulder, sprinting the rest of the way down the corridor. "Meet me in the common room," she instructed, just before charging through the portrait hole.

"Great," Ron moaned. "That means more books to carry."

Harry stuttered a distracted chuckle, his thoughts on what Hermione might have linked to Sleeping Beauty. Silently, he followed Ron back to where their books lay and helped him gather them into their arms.

They were just setting them on a table in the mostly abandoned common room when Hermione came down her dormitory stairs with yet another book.

"We won't need those," she said, waving a hand dismissively at the library books. Ron scowled.

"I knew I've seen that snake somewhere," she mumbled to herself as she began flipping pages. "I would never have thought to look in my muggle books though, if you hadn't brought up muggle legends, Harry."

"What snake?" asked Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The one on Harry's face, obviously!"

Harry glanced about him as they bickered. The only people still in the common room were safely on the other side of the room, absorbed by their own activities.

"Here!" Hermione said triumphantly. She jabbed her finger at the book and Harry craned his neck to see.

There, printed at the top of the page in big bold letters were the words 'Chapter Seven: Medieval Bestiaries'. And just below it, drawn in silver, was the exact three-tailed serpent tattooed on Harry's face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 – The Restricted Section**

The book called the serpent a Scitalis; the soul of all serpents.

_The Scitalis is a most dangerous enemy because of its ability to lure its prey with its beauty alone. Coupled with the exotic allure of its three tails, it bears stunning markings along its back that can stun the viewer into complete pliability. _

_The Scitalis has been known to grow to reach over three meters in length and can have the circumference of a full grown cat. One of its stranger qualities is its temperature, which runs so hot that it sheds its skin even in winter. A loyal mate to one companion, a female Scitalis can bear only one offspring, and oftentimes dies in childbirth._

From there, the book went on to recount sightings of Scitali all across Europe during the medieval era, believed to have become extinct around the 1600's. Harry disregarded all of this.

"But Hermione," he said slowly. "This is nothing like me. I mean, aside from the three tails and the body temperature...I mean, it's a _snake_, Hermione!"

"Yes," agreed Hermione, with the air of explaining something easy to a child. "But this is a book of muggle legends. You're also a _wizard_ Harry."

"I don't get your meaning."

"Don't you? Muggles do this so often. They have legends for almost everything that exists in the magical world! But more often then not they aren't one-hundred percent accurate in their accounts. And that's because they're too narrow-minded to see all that exists."

"Narrow-minded meaning barmy," Ron muttered.

"No, Ron. Narrow-minded meaning narrow-minded," said Hermione irritably. "Listen, my point is, the thing exists. Maybe the muggles haven't got its existence quite right but it's _real_. So all we have to do is find the magical adaption of it."

"You mean me?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I mean the magical adaption of its explanation—its description. So we know what we're dealing with."

"But we've looked!" Ron threw his hands up. "Don't you think we would have found it in our research by now if it's so common that muggles know about it?"

"No, I don't; because we've been looking in the wrong place."

"How do you figure?"

Hermione brightened, as if this were the part she had been building up to all along. "Don't you see? We've been looking under curses and charms and maladies. But this book proves us wrong! Harry isn't suffering from an ailment at all. The Scitalis is a _creature_. It's in his genes!"

Ron gaped. Harry's stomach did a back-flip and he thought he might be sick.

"Are you saying," he breathed. "That my mum or dad was this...this _thing_? Are you saying they weren't—_I'm_ not—all human?"

"Yes—and no," Hermione said softly. "No because they may have been recessive genes—dormant; which is most likely. Otherwise you probably would have been notified by Dumbledore or someone who knew that you'd be...changing sometime in your life."

"And yes...?"

"Well, none of us are all human, Harry," said Hermione hesitantly. "We're magical. We're subject to all kinds of surprise traits in our gene pools."

"I don't see any of you lot turning into great snakes in your spare time!" Harry bellowed. The others across the room looked up curiously but he didn't care. He felt diseased—dirty. There was something gone wrong inside him—some kind of mutation.

Hermione glanced around nervously and patted Harry's arm. "Let's not get anxious yet, Harry. We still don't really know what you are. I could be all wrong!"

Harry knew she was just trying to sate his rapidly growing temper. He knew she believed she was completely right, and he believed it too. But her attempts at calming him worked; her touch more than anything. It reminded him of Ron's promise earlier that day. They were there for him. He was an alien—a mutant—but they were still there.

"Okay," he agreed. "Then let's find out what the wizards have to say about it."

"Now?" Ron asked.

"Now."

* * *

The three of them hardly fit under the cloak together anymore. Harry and Ron were crouched uncomfortably and Hermione tried to walk on her tip-toes to give them relief. It didn't matter; their feet were showing, Harry was sure. And probably a good portion of leg.

Harry wasn't worried though. He kept his wall down, inquiring Ron and Hermione to be as silent with their thoughts as possible. They made it to the library without incident and Hermione slipped a hand through the opening of the cloak to unlatch the door to the Restricted Section.

"Is it dangerous?" Harry whispered, wondering why the answer would be restricted.

"If I'm correct," Hermione replied. "It's not an encouraged subject of study for the younger students."

Harry didn't know whether or not to be relieved by this slight evasion. He fell silent as they removed the cloak and Hermione began scanning the shelves. Harry watched the titles slip beneath her fingers.

_Counting Your Chromosomes; How to Tell if You're Really Human. Creatures of the Deep; What's Hiding in Your Most Basic Make Up. Mating Rituals; How to Get the One that Makes You Morph and What to do Once You Have Them. Genetic Inheritance; When You're Left More than Money._

"Ah, this looks like the one we want." Hermione heaved the last title down and let it fall open.

She began flipping through the pages. It looked like an encyclopedia, but one bigger than Harry had ever seen. It must have been three inches wide and too big to carry under arm.

"I'll never understand how she finds such specific information in all of these pages," Ron whispered to Harry.

"Look!" Hermione cried then. "It's here! Scitalis!"

Before either Harry or Ron could look over her shoulder, Hermione's face fell.

"But it's still a snake. Hang on, let me read."

For one unbearable moment, Hermione bent her head over the book, her hair obscuring the words, and read.

"Ah ha! Here," she finally said. She straightened up and read aloud.

"_For humans with genetic enhancements resembling the characteristics of the Scitalis, see Scytale._"

Again, she flipped pages, this time fewer than last.

"Harry," she whispered. "I think we've found it."

Then, excitedly, the three bent their heads and read:

_Creature: Scytale_

_Category: Being_

_Subcategory: Metaphysical_

_M.O.M. Classification: XXXXX_

_The Scytale is a wizard or witch with the genetic enhancements of a Scitalis (see Scitalis). Like some humanoids, these genes remain dormant for most generations, rarely emerging and therefore giving the appearance of endangerment of extinction or extinction. Recorded pattern has given evidence to emergences of the gene in only prophesized wizards and witches because of their connection to the metaphysical. (All Scytale's are currently required by law to register with the Ministry of Magic). _

_Unique to the Scytale, this gene is only awakened by the Scytale's first kiss. The kiss transfers a certain amount of the Scytale strain to his/her mate, therefore increasing their chances of producing a similarly affected offspring._

_Characteristics: _

_The Scytale is best known for its union with the metaphysical universe. Its medium is thought, readily able upon first kiss to hear the minds of those around them. This attack is impervious to any kind of resistance, earning the Scytale the highest Ministry of Magic danger classification. It also runs six to ten degrees hotter than the average human and, as result, can withstand great heats without separate magical aid. It bares basic healing abilities and super-human grace and agility. _

_After its first kiss, the Scytale remains loyal to only one mate, like the Scitalis. The bond between Scytale and mate is unbreakable. Together they can bear only one offspring._

_Marked with the image of the Scitalis most commonly on the head and in the ink of thought, this is the only way to identify a Scytale. The mark is unreceptive to any removal or glamour charms but can be temporarily hidden by the Scytale's mate. _

_* Note: The Scytale's mate bares similar qualities to the Scytale._

_** Note: Scytale characteristics are subject to changes/additions. Like humans, each is slightly different._

For a long time, they remained silent. Harry reread the article over and over, absorbing every detail. This was the answer, finally, to all his questions. This was what he was; a Scytale.

"Well," he finally said. "I guess I do need to work on brewing the Fire Draught."

Hermione looked at him in question. Ron was still staring, open-mouthed, at the book.

"It wasn't right after all," explained Harry. "I could only hold it because of what I am."

Ron snorted, breaking the tension. Hermione smiled hesitantly.

"It explains so much," Harry mused.

"It explains everything, Harry," Hermione said. "It is what you are."

"I don't understand one part, though. What does it mean, 'the ink of thought'?"

"I was wondering about that too." Hermione reached up and ran her fingers along the image of the Scitalis on Harry's temple. "I think it means exactly what it says. This is created by thought. You've seen Dumbledore's pensive."

Suddenly it struck Harry why the curious fluidity of the silver was so familiar to him. It swirled and shimmered just like the thoughts collected in Dumbledore's pensive had; neither gas nor liquid—the ink of thought.

And carried piggy-back on this recognition came a second.

"That's where I've seen the Scitalis before!" Harry declared. "Dumbledore's office! Only, he called it a Reader."

"Dumbledore's a Scytale?" Ron asked dim-wittedly.

"No." Harry shook his head. "One of those silver instruments he has all around his office—it's in the shape of a Scitalis. He calls it a Reader because when he puts his wand in it, it hears his thoughts and plays them back to him."

Hermione looked excited. "It's like someone's tried to capture the powers of the Scytale!"

"Tried," Harry said, feeling somewhat smug. "But failed. It can only hear the thoughts of the one to whose wand it's attached."

"I wonder where it came from..." Hermione pondered.

Harry was silent, absorbed by his own thoughts. Then, more to himself than to his friends, he said, "So I'm a Scytale."

"Or are you...?" Ron said vaguely, back to studying the page in the book.

Harry and Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"Well," he began, looking proud that he got to explain something for once. "It says here that the traits emerge after a snog—which must have been"—he cringed—"Malfoy. So how do we know it's not Malfoy who's the Scytale and Harry who's the...mate?" He cringed again.

Harry was suddenly extremely embarrassed and slightly disgusted by Ron's words. He had not put any thought into the multiple mentions of 'mate' nor 'kiss'. Now that he was forced to recognize it, it seemed to be all too indubitable that he and Malfoy were somehow irreversibly bonded by his recklessness a week ago.

"Actually," Hermione said, unperturbed by these newly grasped facts. "I'm positive that Harry is the Scytale."

"And what makes you so sure?" demanded Ron.

Hermione put her nose in the air. "First of all, look who's currently well and strong and who's currently lying in a bed in the hospital wing. Probably the activation of the gene wouldn't have any ill effects on the true Scytale. Secondly, as far as I know Malfoy has had no prophesies made about him. And the book clearly states that that's the usual cause that triggers the Scytale mutati—"

"Let's not use that word," Harry interrupted, feeling suddenly sick.

This was all so much—too much to take in. He was having a hard enough time absorbing the fact that he was no longer as human as he once thought; a hard enough time coming to terms with the fact that Malfoy may very well be his_ mate_. He didn't need any deprecating terms to make him feel more uneasy about the situation.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said softly.

There was an anguish in her eyes that matched what Harry was feeling and he got the impression that Hermione really understood what he was going through. Ron, though not possessing the same empathy, at least radiated sympathy, and that was huge, considering the Malfoy aspect. For these two Harry would be eternally grateful. If anything could ease his transition into a new life, it would be his two best friends.

And suddenly he felt sorry for Malfoy. Alone in a cold hospital bed, burning in silence, suffering unaided—it must be maddening.

"I have to go to the hospital wing," Harry said.

"Are you feeling ill?" Hermione worried.

Harry shook his head. "I have to tell Malfoy what we know. I have to tell him what happened. It's not fair to him."

Hermione nodded. Ron looked disgusted by the thought of a rational conversation with Malfoy but didn't disagree.

"I'll go alone," Harry decided. "I don't want him to feel...attacked."

"That's wise," agreed Hermione. "And take this"—she tore the page unceremoniously from the book and gave it to Harry—"so you'll have a bit of proof to convince him."

"As if the signs aren't enough to go by," Ron mumbled.

"Take the cloak," Harry told them. "I won't need it." He tapped his head and grinned.

While Ron accepted the cloak from Harry, Hermione replaced the book on the shelf and snagged a smaller book down, which she stowed in her pocket.

"What was that?" Ron asked

Hermione shrugged. "Personal interest." Then she took the cloak and spun it over her and Ron. "Good luck, Harry," she whispered, before their footsteps faded away.

* * *

When Harry entered the hospital wing it was darker than the last time. The night was darker. He reconstructed his wall. If Malfoy could possibly possess the same talents as Harry he would do all he could to keep him out of his head.

Unfortunately, this was a bad choice. Just as he'd reached the one drawn curtain in the wing, the door across the room flung open and Madame Pomfrey came bustling out, arms full of clean bed sheets. Upon seeing Harry she uttered a little screech and dropped her things.

"Potter! What ever are you doing out of bed at this hour? Are you ill?"

Harry couldn't see a way out of this one. His only hope was the truth.

"Madame Pomfrey, I need to speak to Malfoy. It's a matter of urgency." He tried to show just how urgent it was in his distressed expression.

Madame Pomfrey's eyes narrowed and she said the next with bitterness:

"Well, you missed him. Malfoy left the hospital wing of his own accord early this morning."

* * *

_A/N: A little credit to Wikipedia for the Scitalis explanation (though I did make some of it up on my own). The Scytale is all mine._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – Learning to Share**

Harry didn't wait for Ron to wake him up the next morning. Instead, he dressed himself quickly and stole through the still-sleeping dormitory and out of the common room. He may not have been able to tell Malfoy last night but Malfoy wasn't the only person who needed to know.

"Ice Mice," Harry said.

He entered the newly revealed passageway and took the stairs to Dumbledore's office. With a hesitant knock, he waited, fondling the balled up library page in his pocket.

"Enter."

When Harry pushed the door open he was surprised to see Dumbledore dressed and alert and sitting behind his desk. As early as he was, he was prepared for a dressing gown and a tired curiosity.

"So it's true then," Dumbledore said, his eyes on Harry's temple. Every line in his old face looked grave.

"Sir?"

"Professor McGonagall told me you had a most curious tattoo on your face. The Scitalis."

Harry's jaw dropped and he sank into the chair across from Dumbledore. "You know what it's called? But you called it a Reader..."

"On the contrary," said Dumbledore. "I called my device a Reader because it is not a Scitalis. Scitali are snakes, Harry. My Reader is not so alive. However, I am surprised to find that you are familiar with the term."

"I'm familiar with more than that, Professor," Harry said. He pulled the paper from his pocket and smoothed it over Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore gave it one glance, then leaned back and steepled his fingers.

"I see," he said. "So you know what you are."

"Do _you_ know what I am?" Harry was becoming more and more surprised. Could it be possible that Dumbledore had known all along and had never told Harry.

"I have been familiar with the Scytale for a long time. Admittedly, until sixteen years ago I rather thought it a legend. When Professor Trelawney made the prophesy concerning you, though, I couldn't not keep from worrying about what you might someday turn into. I had many paranoia's about you, Harry, I am not ashamed to say.

"However, I had no reasons to feel that way. Along with many other measures I took to disprove my other fears, I began researching your family tree. It wasn't easy, you know. There was a time many centuries ago when wizards chose to keep secret their heritage. And it wasn't one of my top priorities—at the time. It took me many years to compile your complete family tree and many more to research each individual for signs of the Scytale gene.

"I found it in a grandfather many times removed. But it was all pointless in the end. There was nothing I could do. I could only watch and wait and worry. Yet here you are, strong and healthy, with a more open-mind, if I dare say so."

His eyes twinkled but Harry felt murderous. "It's not open," Harry hissed. "I don't want to hear anyone's thoughts."

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that you haven't accepted who you are."

In a burst of rage Harry leapt to his feet, kicking his chair back. "Who I am?! A genetic mutation, you mean?!"

Dumbledore said nothing, making no reaction to his shouting.

"And you decided not to let me know that someday I'd be a freak! It's not the first time, either! How many more secrets are you keep from me, _Professor_? How many more ways can I be separated from my world—"

His voice broke as anguish poured through him and a strangled sob escaped him. He felt like a dam had broken, letting in a flood that filled him, wrapped around him, took him over. He felt like a spectator, sitting back and observing as another drove him.

His vision flashed and turned red. It narrowed as though he were looking through a long tunnel. He dropped so that he could see Dumbledore's slipper-clad feet beneath his desk, then rose back up again, taller this time, looking down on Dumbledore. He swayed threateningly and flicked his tongue out, tasting the air. There wasn't as much fear as he hoped for. He could fix that.

He lurched backwards, but just before he could lunge Dumbledore opened his mouth and spoke; "You can control it, Harry."

And then Harry realized that he wasn't sitting back; he was chained back. The tunnel was in his head, connecting his barred prison to his eyes. He could see them; two holes, like windows—his only connection to the world. He struggled against his bonds, longing to reach his eyes, his control. But his driver was there, holding him back, whispering sweet words in his ear.

_Let me help you,_ it said. _Let me ease your passing into the mutant world._

I'm not a mutant! Harry shouted back. And Malfoy's not a mutant either! he added, a sudden image of Malfoy, lying sick in the hospital bed, springing to the front of his mind.

It hissed disparagingly and suddenly the chains and bars vanished and Harry reeled forward. He tumbled head over heels, spinning faster and faster. Colors ran together, blurring, making him sick, until it all disappeared.

Blackness.

* * *

When Harry regained awareness the first thing he noticed was a second consciousness in his head. It slithered in circles around the wall he must have instinctively erected to keep it out, searching always for even the smallest opening. He shied away from its existence, into the very core of himself. The blackness engulfed him again.

* * *

"How long will he remain this way?" a stern voice asked.

A deeper voice answered. "As long as it takes him to accept it."

"And what is it?"

"It is something that has been his constant companion. It is awake inside him..."

* * *

"Come on, mate, wake up! We're here for you."

A smaller voice discouraged: "It's no use."

"The problem is that thing inside him is here for him too. It's probably just waiting to gobble him up when he comes out."

"Oh, don't say that!"

A rustle of clothing. "I'm sorry. Shh, don't cry. It'll be alright. It'll be okay."

A sob.

* * *

There was no talking this time; no noise. Only slow, deep breathing.

Harry focused on it, counting the breaths, distracting himself from the foreign touch in his mind. It was still there, circling, always circling.

The breathing stuttered, a slight cough.

Harry flinched, expecting this to be the change that triggered the attack. But the thing didn't pause, didn't stop; circling, slithering. Harry kept himself in a tight ball, in the center of all things, as far from its reach as he could. It exhausted him, this cowering in his own mind. He wanted to cave, to slip back into the blissful darkness, but he was afraid to leave his mind unprotected, in the hands of the second awareness.

Suddenly a warmth touched Harry. It wiggled its way into his curled hand, drifting over his palm. It stroked the same tempo as the breathing, which had grown shallow. It pushed his fingers, stretched them, pressing them into the mattress Harry rested on. The warmth fitted itself over his upturned palm.

Harry listened to it. He allowed his consciousness to stretch little by little, flattening instead of curling. He eyed the other warily but it never paused in its routine. He focused again on the warmth.

Now it stroked a path up his arm, drawing circles on his inner elbow.

Harry understood. Within his cage he stood, extended. He came close to the creature but it ignored him. He grew a little, inflated until he filled a bit more of the no-mans-land. There was no reaction, just as he wished.

And then a new thought came to him. Perhaps there was no reaction _because_ he wished it. He experimented with this idea, focused on the other being, not reaching, only willing. And the thing abruptly changed directions. Now it rotated up and down instead of around and around. Other than this change, it remained unruffled, unprovoked.

Suddenly the warmth shrouded the side of his face. Separate beads of warmth danced over his temple, touching the Scitalis Harry knew was swirling there.

In a burst of light, Harry exploded. He grew outward rapidly, avoiding the unperturbed creature and expanding to the very edges of his head, illuminating all the corners of his mind. A great, shuddering gasp ripped the silence as Harry reclaimed his lungs, his heart. It pounded and fluttered frantically but its beat was equaled.

The warmth disappeared altogether and a quiet set of footsteps tripped away from him. His eyelashes fluttered at the click of a door. Then Harry gave in to the exhaustion and slept.

* * *

"Madame Pomfrey," Harry croaked.

He wanted water but his voice was too hoarse to make himself heard. He looked to his right to find a nightstand complete with a pitcher of water and a glass. When he reached for it his arm felt oddly rubbery and he over-shot. The glass tumbled to the floor and smashed, shards skidding across the floor in all directions.

The door across the room slammed open and Madame Pomfrey bustled out.

"Potter! You're awake!"

"Water," Harry rasped.

"Of course." Madame Pomfrey pulled out her wand and muttered 'reparo'. The glass put itself back together and she filled it with water from the pitcher. She helped prop Harry up with his pillows and he drained the glass while she fussed over him.

"How long have I been out?" he asked once he'd regained his voice.

"Two nights and two days—"

"Two days?!" Harry shot straight up anxiously but Madame Pomfrey held him with stern hands.

"Careful, Potter! Calm down. You've put too much strain on your body already!"

"But I've missed the Quidditch match!" Harry moaned in despair.

Madame Pomfrey tutted. "Relax, Potter! I daresay your friends will be in momentarily and they'll be able to explain all that you've missed. Now, I'm going to get you some breakfast. Stay in bed!"

Harry sulked most of the morning, though he dutifully ate his breakfast. Madame Pomfrey helped him cross the wing on wobbly legs so he could use the loo. She assured him that the rubbery feeling of his bones and muscles was only a side effect of the potions she'd been feeding him over the last two days. She promised they'd wear off by the end of the day—while she gave him yet another potion.

When she finally retreated back into her office Harry took the time to grope around in his own mind. He could still feel his new awareness snaking around his brain. He refused to lower his wall for it; whether or not it was himself; whether or not he could simply tell it to stay out. For now, he had adapted enough to share a space in his head with it. He would not share himself. The power of it was still too fresh in his memory, too frightening. The way it took him over, the way it drained and weakened him, the way the world turned bloody through its eyes. And worst of all, the way he relished the strength he'd felt in his long, muscular body, coursing through his very veins, tingling just on the tip of his tongue, ready to attack—win—kill.

Harry shuddered violently and pulled away from the consciousness once again, but not far enough to see the darkness. Its tantalizing whispers faded in a drawn out hiss as he took away its voice. It would not tempt him.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, running through the door. When she reached his bedside he could see the physical effort it took her to keep from throwing herself on him. "Oh, we were so worried! How are you?"

"Spiffing," Harry murmured. He was still rightfully grumpy.

He spied Ron over Hermione's shoulder, ambling in, and his spine went rigid.

"The match," he breathed in question, his eyes wide in anticipation.

Ron's face split into a wide grin when he reached the bed and Harry slumped back against the headboard with a relieved sigh.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione scolded in her usual Hermione-ish way. Harry couldn't help but grin at the side of her he hadn't seen in a few weeks. "It's just a game! You shouldn't be stressing yourself about it. You need rest, Harry!"

Harry ignored this, allowing her to straighten his covers and organize the sweets on the table at the end of his bed.

"How did we win?" he asked Ron.

"Ginny went on as Seeker," he explained. "And we brought on Creevey since you wouldn't be there to distract him." Ron sniggered at this. "Oh, if only he knew you were...that you fancied...Well, you know." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, the poor sod wasn't too bad. We kept mostly even with Ravenclaw all the way through."

"Why's he a poor sod?" Harry asked.

"Well, toward the end, he got hit pretty badly with a bludger. Broke his arm in quite a few places, I heard." Ron cringed at the memory.

"He was in here most of yesterday with you getting it fixed," Hermione said. "Madame Pomfrey kept your curtains closed though."

Harry was inwardly relieved.

"Demelza reckons he wanted it," sniggered Ron. "To match yours—you know, second year with Dobby's bludger."

"Oh, that's a terrible thing to say!" Hermione admonished.

"Well, he kept playing though, the crazy blighter!" Ron continued. "Although, we stopped scoring then. We were all getting pretty worried. Ravenclaw was pulling way ahead. At one point we were down one-hundred-thirty points..." He paused for dramatic effect. "And then Ginny did it! Snagged the snitch right out from under Ravenclaw Seeker's nose. No, I mean that literally, Harry. The thing was hovering right there and the git didn't even see it!"

After a good laugh at the opposing Seeker's mistake, Harry grinned happily and said, "looks like you didn't need me after all."

"Nah," Ron disagreed. "We were just lucky Ravenclaw's captain is new. He was rubbish at training up the team in such a short time. We'll need you next time though—gotta work hard to pull ahead in the next match. We only just won this one; two-hundred to one-hundred-eighty."

Hermione scoffed. "Isn't the point that we won?"

"No!" Harry and Ron cried at the same time.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Boys!" she huffed, then turned and dug through her book bag. "Here, Harry," she said, dropping a stack of books and parchment on his bed next to him. "I've brought your homework. And Dumbledore says none of the teachers will be bothering you anymore about your mark, so you can start going to classes again."

"Brilliant," Harry murmured sarcastically.

Hermione scowled at him then pulled up a chair and began flipping through his books. "Now, McGonagall's last lesson was pretty tricky but I can show you a short cut that will help you..."

"I think the stress shocked her back to normal," Ron whispered while she continued on into lecture mode. "Nice while it lasted," he grinned and winked.

"What happened to begin with, anyway?" Harry whispered back, pretending to nod along with Hermione's instructions.

Ron blushed deeply and shuffled his feet. "Erm, nothing really..."

Harry decided he'd had enough of this particular mystery. So, wary of the monster hovering just beyond his awareness, he cracked Ron's door and took a look for himself...

_"I can't believe this—us...I can't believe we finally happened," Ron whispered._

_He and Hermione were curled beneath a blanket on the stone floor of the astronomy tower, looking up at the sky, streaked with pink and gold from the setting sun. Their lips were swollen and pink and Hermione's hair was bushier than usual._

_"Yes, it's taken you quite long enough," Hermione agreed with a fond smile._

_Ron blushed but laid a sweet kiss on her nose._

_"You know, we're both missing a Prefect meeting for this," mused Hermione. She giggled. "What a good role model the Head Girl is."_

_Ron froze, staring wide-eyed at Hermione. "That doesn't...bother you?"_

_"What doesn't?"_

_"That you're missing your meeting."_

_Hermione thought about it then smiled and shook her head. "No, at the moment, there's nowhere I'd rather be."_

_Ron's face split into the brightest grin he'd ever worn. "That makes me...so happy—that you'd break one of your precious rules for me."_

_Hermione flushed prettily and the two engaged in another round of snogging._

And Harry promptly burst out laughing.

"OY!" Ron bellowed. "You stay out of my head you sick pervert!"

Hermione looked up, shocked that they weren't paying their undivided attention to her.

Ron punched Harry in the shoulder when he continued laughing. He wasn't sure why he was in hysterics. Maybe because he was so shocked that they had _finally_ admitted their feelings for each other. Maybe because he should have noticed the signs earlier. Maybe because he had simply been under too much stress lately and he had at last lost his marbles.

It didn't matter though, because for the first time in a long time, Harry was completely happy. And the angry red seeping up Ron's neck plus Hermione's embarrassed flush of realization only made him happier.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: This chapter is being posted ahead of schedule because of superstarsvtn, who reviewed each and every chapter with kind words and touching enthusiasm. Thank you very much :)_

**Chapter 12 – Nighttime Visitor**

On Monday both Harry and Malfoy had returned to their classes. Though Ron's primary reaction was disgruntlement and Hermione's was disinterest, Harry couldn't help but feel envious. Now that his temper had subsided, he was bombarded on all sides by questions about his three-tailed snake and what had happened to the mermaid. Malfoy's reappearance went entirely unnoticed; a fact that he didn't seem to mind at all, staying mostly to himself and mostly silent all through classes and even lunch.

"Hey Harry!"

"Hey Colin," Harry mumbled, sighing around his lunch.

"Listen, Harry," said Colin, squeezing uninvited into the non-existent gap between Hermione and Ron on the bench across from Harry. "You probably want people getting off your back about that tattoo, right?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. He hated that he had to pretend it was a tattoo. Tattoos were silly things muggles printed onto their skin by choice. What Harry had was a forced image, marking him as an intruder in the human race. He would much rather call it a silver atrocity.

"Right," Colin said hesitantly when Harry said nothing. "So I was thinking I could make a newsletter of sorts and pass it out around the school. All you'd have to do is give an interview and maybe pose for a quick picture. Then, instead of answering the same questions hundreds of times, you'd only have to answer them once and the whole school would know! I was thinking of calling it Potter Post—what'd'ya think?"

Harry's eyes were wide in astonishment. Ron snorted loudly into his bowl of soup and Hermione reached around Colin's back to smack him surreptitiously.

"I think I've got a better idea, Colin," Ron grinned when Harry couldn't find his voice.

"Oh yeah?" Colin's face brightened. "What's that?"

"How about Harry answers the same questions _zero_ times and you bugger off?"

Then he lifted tiny Colin easily from the bench and erased the gap there by putting his arm around Hermione, who forgot about scolding his rudeness in favor of blushing, taking a too-big bite of her biscuit, and promptly spiting it back up in a coughing fit.

By the time all of this had caught up with Harry and sent him into appreciative chuckles, Colin was long gone, probably sulking with the other members of Harry Potter's fan club. And that was when Harry noticed Malfoy slipping out of the Great Hall alone. Harry sighed. This was as good a time as any to let Malfoy know what Harry had turned him into.

"Y'know what? I think I'm done for now," he said, rising and rushing after Malfoy before Hermione or Ron could ask any questions.

In the entrance hall, Harry had to spin circles to figure out where Malfoy had gone. He finally spotted his cloak hems whipping out of site at the top of the marble staircase. When Harry reached the landing in a huff, Malfoy was already at the end of the corridor. Grunting, Harry took off after him, running full speed. Why was he moving so fast?!

Then he turned the corner and was alone.

Harry sprinted onward, glancing down each corridor he passed. When he reached the wall he turned and jogged back, taking longer looks. Malfoy was no where to be seen. Huffing, he leaned against a stretch of wall to catch his breath—and fell through.

A pair of arms caught him and slammed him against another wall—solid this time. Harry's head cracked and his breath whooshed out of him. He began struggling against the stranger's hold even before his eyes could adjust to the sudden blackness of the hidden passage he'd fallen into.

Then, as suddenly as they caught him, the hands disappeared and Harry sagged against the wall, still dizzy from the hit on his head.

"Stop wriggling, Potter. It's not like I'm going to _snog _you."

Malfoy raised his wand and a dim ring of light lit his sneering face.

"Why are you following me?" he demanded.

Harry blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. This is what I wanted, he had to remind himself as an ugly look tried to take over his face, initiated habitually by Malfoy's mere presence.

"I have to tell you about somethi—"

"About how you forcefully turned me into a psychic beast with your damned mouth?"

Harry's 'damned mouth' fell open.

"Oh, shut your gob," Malfoy snarled, rolling his eyes. "You look like a chimpanzee that's been fucked up the arse."

With one finger, Malfoy reached out and snapped Harry's jaw up. His teeth clinked together painfully at the same time a current of electricity zinged through the mark on his temple.

"You know?" Harry breathed, ignoring both discomforts.

"I know," said Malfoy, crossing his arms. "So feel free to leave me alone now."

Then he turned and strode through the wall back into the corridor on the other side.

"Wait, Malfoy!" Harry caught his elbow just before he could fully disappear.

Malfoy ripped his arm out of Harry's grasp but indulgently stepped back so that he wasn't dangling through a wall. He stared languidly at the ceiling, waiting.

"I didn't mean to," Harry whispered, refusing to allow Malfoy's rudeness to side-track him. He needed Malfoy to know this. "I didn't know what I was until I—we changed. When I...When I kissed you I didn't mean for it to be you. And it wasn't because I was looking for a _mate_"—he spat the word—"It was because..."

Harry hesitated. If he voiced his next thought he could be causing a lot of trouble for himself. If he didn't, Malfoy would forever feel damned to a body that wasn't his—a life he didn't choose. Harry didn't know why he cared. He plunged on anyway, damning himself instead of Malfoy.

"It was because I was testing myself to see if I was gay."

Harry held his breath but within a few moments of utter silence and stillness it came out in a soft sigh of defeat and desperation.

"I am, by the way," he added, more for something to say than because he wanted to.

He blushed a deep scarlet and regretted that choice a second later when Malfoy finally turned his head to look at him. For a minute that seemed as long as a lifetime, Harry was caught in Malfoy's grey gaze like a fly in a web. Malfoy scrutinized him acutely, Harry could tell, and yet he could read no revealing emotion or decision in those eyes.

Then, without a parting word or gesture, Malfoy turned and left. Harry did not stop him.

* * *

Harry had no more classes with Malfoy that day and did not go to dinner to avoid seeing him there. His worry that Malfoy might start spreading his exclusive new knowledge about Harry's sexuality was only part of Harry's reasons for evasion. More strongly, Harry felt ashamed. Ashamed that he'd been so frivolous with his experiments; ashamed that he'd landed Malfoy in such a hopeless situation with that frivolity; ashamed that Malfoy had had to figure out what he was by himself, before Harry could tell him; ashamed that he was no longer human; and most confusingly, ashamed that he was ashamed. Because why should he care about Malfoy's life and Malfoy's problems and Malfoy's feelings?

But he did care. Surprisingly, frustratingly, ashamedly, he cared.

He went to bed extremely early that night, not wanting to dwell on any of his thoughts. But he didn't feel tired until long after the sun had set, his dorm mates had retired to their beds, and snoring had filled the room. He cast a silencing charm around his bed and pulled the curtains, wanting to appear as secluded as he felt.

Almost as soon as he'd lain back down and shut his eyes, there was a pair of hands shaking his shoulders and a voice in his ear.

"Potter," it whispered and his eyes snapped open wide.

Malfoy hovered over him, close enough that his hair—usually slicked back but now falling free—could tickle Harry's face. He wore his dressing gown and slippers and even though Harry had never seen him more vulnerable in appearance, his cold, closed face negated that vulnerability absolutely.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed, temporarily forgetting his silencing charm and scrambling back and away from Malfoy. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Malfoy sank onto the newly abandoned space on the side of Harry's bed but didn't answer. Harry glanced around wildly. His curtains remained closed.

"How did you—"

His words stuck in his throat. In the moment in which his eyes had moved away, Malfoy had come close again. He leaned back more, pressing fully into the headboard and leaving himself with no where left to go.

"How did you get in here?" he demanded.

"Not important," Malfoy said in a calm voice. His was evenly observing Harry, now curled into the smallest ball he could manage and glaring daggers. His hand stroked Harry's bedcovers absently.

Harry was speechless. What more was there to say? Malfoy was the one who should be doing the talking! Malfoy was the one currently sitting casually on Harry's bed in the middle of the night! And just as he opened his mouth to demand an explanation, his voice was once again caught before it could escape...

Caught by Malfoy's mouth.

This time their kiss was the complete opposite of last time. Now Malfoy was the initiator; Malfoy was the one moving his lips, trying to finagle a response out of a frozen Harry. But Harry was too shocked to move.

And then something warm, wet, and utterly delicious swept across Harry's bottom lip and he gasped in surprise. In that minute opening through which his breath escaped, Malfoy's tongue slipped in and curled along Harry's, eliciting feelings in him that he simply could not ignore. The first was an oddly pleasant pressure in his lower stomach, as if his intestines were being wrung like wet laundry. The second was an odd fluttering in his right temple, the same spot where he'd felt shooting pains a hundred times.

In his distraction, Harry hadn't noticed Malfoy's tongue, which seemed to be following the steps of a sensuous dance in his mouth. It swept over his top teeth and gums, then followed that path back over his bottom lip. It laved his tongue then the roof of his mouth. It retreated and then slipped back in, touching Harry's tongue and then withdrawing again, as if luring Harry's own tongue out to play.

And amazingly, despite himself, it came.

With a quiet sigh that sent shivers down Harry's spine, Malfoy allowed Harry entrance to his own mouth. Without thought, Harry began experimenting, using Malfoy's routine as a vague guideline. As he explored with his tongue, Malfoy began exploring with his hands.

Harry trembled as Malfoy caressed his shoulders, running his hands smoothly down Harry's arms and then back up the undersides, lifting them and pulling them around his own shoulders. When Harry clutched Malfoy's dressing gown there and Malfoy was sure he wouldn't let go, he moved his hands back down and around again, this time splaying his fingers over Harry's back.

They would not be kept still, however, quickly running forward and up until they were beneath Harry's nightshirt, pushed flat over his chest. In a tiny movement, Malfoy flicked his thumbs and swished them over Harry's nipples. Harry's mouth fell open and Malfoy took the opportunity to fill it with his tongue again.

And as Malfoy took over both with hands and mouth, Harry found himself being guided down the headboard until his head was pressed into a pillow and Malfoy was hovering over him, sliding his hands back down until they were fingering the waistband of his shorts.

If he were in his right mind, this might have set off warning bells in Harry's head. As it was, his head was clouded with lust and the very blood in his veins was tingling with impatience and want. Malfoy, seemingly hearing this want, hesitated no longer.

In one swift motion, Harry's erection was freed to the cool night air. In a second motion, Malfoy's hand wrapped around it, protecting it from the frigidness. And in a third—one single pump—Harry lost a moan unintentionally as it bubbled up and over his lips. Malfoy let it out, removing his mouth from Harry's and dragging his lips in a long sweep, across his jaw and down his neck.

As one, Malfoy's tongue and teeth went to work at the junction between neck and shoulder at the same time as his hand picked up a steady pace on Harry's cock, flicking his thumb over the head on each up-stroke.

Harry's pleasure was quickly building, the pressure in his belly expanding outward, upward. At the same time, the fluttering in his head turned into a comforting kind of heat, pulsing like a second heart, as if his one heart couldn't beat enough to convey his satisfaction alone. In time to this tempo, the dormant beast in his head stretched and circled faster, though made no move to break through Harry's weak defenses. As a result of all of this, Harry's breathy gasps became more frequent and passionate.

And just when he thought he could feel no better, Malfoy sent him tumbling over the edge by using his free hand to fondle Harry's sac at the same time he bit down hard on Harry's shoulder.

With a burst of pleasure, pain, and blinding heat, Harry arched off the bed in a drawn out moan of release, spraying himself over Malfoy's hand. When he came back down he was gasping for breath and his heart was racing in his chest. He peeled open his eyes, still in a fog of lust, and was met by Malfoy's infallible grey eyes. Slowly, Malfoy brought his hand to his mouth and used his tongue determinedly to clean every last drop of Harry off himself.

Amazingly, Harry felt his cock stir and his eyes remained half-lidded as he watched. And when he finished, Malfoy laid one last long lick of his tongue over Harry's lips, leaving the taste of Harry lingering there.

Then he rose fluidly and mounted the broom hidden beneath the bed, leaving Harry panting and tingling as he soared out the window and out of sight.

Harry was thankful for his sudden exhaustion then, not wanting to remain awake after his lust haze had faded to think about what he'd just done. Instead, he embraced Night's sweet fingers and faded into unconsciousness under the lull of the circling monster's contented purrs.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 – Sealing the Deal**

Harry woke up the next morning more satisfied than he could ever remember being. He understood this satisfaction almost instantly. It was due mostly in part to the thing wrapped around his head, still purring, still utterly at peace. And the feelings it exuded now made it practically impossible to fear. This, coupled with the sensation of floating on a cloud of pleasure still left over from last night, left Harry feeling energetic and cheerful, feelings that couldn't even be marred by the repetitive thought spinning through Harry's mind.

It was _Malfoy_!

Then Ron woke.

"Mornin'," he grunted, rolling out of bed. Instantly he flung himself back under the covers. "Why's the window open? It's bloody freezing!"

"Sorry," Harry said, rising hastily to seal the tiny crack Malfoy had left in his rush to be gone. And with a mixture of Malfoy and Ron buzzing in his head, Harry's satisfaction began to dwindle.

It was _Malfoy_! What would Ron say if he knew it was _Malfoy_?

"I think..." Ron mumbled, lifting the covers and peeking underneath. "Yep, I've gone and lost my cobs to Old Man Winter."

Harry couldn't even look at Ron let alone laugh.

"Get it, Harry?" Ron persisted. "I've gone poncey like you." He snorted obnoxiously at his own joke and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

Harry stared after him. He couldn't feel offended; he knew Ron too well. The joke was not made as an insult; it was made because Ron was truly and completely at ease with Harry's sexuality. And this gave Harry hope. Because if Ron were so easily over the news that his best friend was gay—and even that his best friend snogged his biggest schoolboy rival—then maybe he could accept the burgeoning feelings he was having for said rival. Or at least, feelings for his rival's talented hands and tongue.

With that thought tingling in his groin, Harry dressed with a new spring in his step. He refused to let last night be a burden. It would be exactly the opposite—a bit of sexual release to help him relax after a week of nothing but stress.

He wouldn't even admit it under pain of torture, but he was thankful for that, for last night—for Malfoy.

* * *

He was thankful all the way up to the moment when he walked into the potions dungeon that afternoon.

Malfoy was already in his usual seat, secluded once again from his friends. Harry kept him in his vision as he took his own seat, almost hoping to catch his eye. Seconds later he did, flushing despite himself at memories of those lush lips and slender fingers.

And then Malfoy sneered at him and looked away.

It was an action so normal it was abnormal. Surely after last night something had changed between the two of them. Harry knew something had changed in him. He was almost accepting of Malfoy now. More: he was waiting like a lovesick pup just for Malfoy to look at him! But Malfoy's reaction proved that he was unaffected by his actions the night before.

Perhaps it was a hobby of his; molesting the most unsuspecting victims from night to night. Harry had heard rumors through the medium of thought that Malfoy had made his merry way through the student body. It was quite common for almost all the Hogwarts girls to lust after him secretly.

Harry suddenly felt sick. No, he wasn't jealous. No, he didn't hope that last night had meant anything more than passion for Malfoy. He simply didn't want to think perhaps Malfoy had been playing a game—testing to see if he was godly enough to make Harry Potter forget all the wrongs Malfoy had done him in a moment of heated longing.

Harry didn't look at Malfoy again.

"Hey, Harry," Ron whispered as they were packing up. Malfoy had just swept past out of the classroom, both he and Harry staring determinedly away from the other. "Did you ever tell Malfoy about...you know?"

Hermione paused as she was cleaning out her cauldron and leaned in to hear Harry's answer.

"No," he said simply, then threw his bag over his shoulder and left.

* * *

"C'mon, Robins, catch the bloody—dammit! Where's your skill today, Robins? Because if you left it back in your dormitory then you can just leave now! And Peakes—where the hell were you aiming that Bludger!? It was so far off the mark even _Ron_ could have done better—"

"OY!" Ron bellowed, interrupting Harry mid-rant. "It's all fun and games when you're wailing on the others but bring me into it and it gets personal!" Leaning forward, he shot across the Quidditch pitch so he wouldn't have to shout. "And you've gone and made Demelza cry. What's the matter with you today, mate?"

Instead of answering Ron, Harry glared silently toward the other end of the pitch, watching Ginny comfort a teary Demelza. Behind them and slightly higher, Peakes was making angry, animated motions with his arms, to which Coote was nodding sternly. Dean was hovering stupidly in the gap between the two pairs, gaping openly at Harry.

Harry didn't care. Demelza could cry; Peakes could rant. Harry would continue feeling miserable no matter how hard Ron tried to get a confession out of him. And he would damn well continue taking it out on his team if that's what he wanted to do.

"Don't talk to your captain that way," he said in a dangerously quiet voice. "Now get back in the air"—he raised his voice so everyone could hear him—"All of you—back in the air! We're doing drilling this maneuver again and again until it's flawless!"

True to his word, Harry did not let his team retire until well after the sun had set and the drill they'd been practicing was tattooed on the back of each of their eyelids so that they dreamed it all night. Even after he'd dismissed them without cheer and they'd flown off grumbling amongst themselves, Harry remained on the pitch, flying laps, executing dives, and slipping over and over into complicated whirly-gigs that made no sense and had no purpose.

As he flew he pretended Malfoy was chasing him; Nimbus Two-Thousand-One glinting in the moonlight, emerald Quidditch robes whipping behind him, sneer stuck firmly in place. And the nice thing about this hallucination was that he could imagine Malfoy faster or slower; could imagine him getting lost in Harry's spirals and falling behind, his sneer melting into a mixed expression of defeat and awe.

By the time the phantom Malfoy was a black speck in the distance, Harry's muscles were aching and throbbing pleasantly. His robes were sweat-drenched and he was panting heavily. But he was happy again because of these most obvious signs of exhaustion.

He flew toward the Gryffindor tower, taking a leaf grudgingly out of Malfoy's book. He would not even luxuriate in a shower, opting instead to be sucked into sleep again tonight so he wouldn't have to dwell. Without bothering to shut the window behind him, he dropped his Firebolt, pulled his curtains, and collapsed, fully-clothed, onto his bedcovers.

In moments he was drifting in the land between awake and asleep.

The snores of his dorm mates were like the waves of the ocean in his ears. The second awareness in his head rode the waves calmly and Harry lost himself in the ups and downs, riding with it—beside it. He dipped lazy fingers in the water; stroking it and watching it ripple out behind him. The wake weaved and spiraled and distorted into something else. The water Harry touched grew excruciatingly hot and with a gasp, Harry ripped his fingers back just as a stream of fire burst forth.

The ripple dragon pursued him and the waters grew choppy and black. Harry looked ahead of himself, hopelessly trying to navigate the stormy sea, but the waves had risen up into one great wall, curling over itself and into itself. Desperately, Harry allowed the waves to carry him into the cylindrical wall. It closed around him just as the dragon breathed again. Harry could see the fire curl up over the wall but it didn't touch him. The dragon clawed at the wall but it was covered in scales of steel and couldn't be breached.

There was a faint hiss and Harry turned. He was face-to-face with a great snake-head. One red eye stared at him. The black slitted pupil expanded towards Harry's feet—like a hole opening wide—and Harry fell in. He wanted to scream, to beg for help—but he had no voice.

_I will help you,_ someone hissed. _Let me help you._

Okay, Harry thought frantically. Okay, help me!

_Embrace it. Embrace who you are. Open your mind, your body, your soul to me._

I will, promised Harry. I will. It's done. Come.

A fire opened up in his head, exploding outwards through his right temple. A fire tore through his heart and into his lungs. A fire burned up his legs, adoring his groin with teasing fingers.

Harry moaned and arched and convulsed and gasped. His eyelids ripped open and the world was painted red. He raised his hands and his muscular arms felt powerful and glorious. In the bloody lighting they glinted black, shiny, and smooth. He hissed his pleasure and was greeted with an answering hiss, shorter and tighter than his—a gasp. He recognized it instantly and a thrum of pleasure ran through his temple.

In a split second, Harry rose fluidly from his bed and reached out, seizing a handful of pale hair. Too easily, he threw his mate against the wall.

"_Incarcerous_," he hissed and he was bound there, dangling a foot off the floor.

"What are you doing?" his mate croaked. Harry could taste his fear. "Potter, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

Harry ignored the shouts. He reached down and removed his own pants, already opened and drooping off his arse. Following his pants were his robes, Quidditch padding, and shirt. Completely naked, he turned sure fingers on his mate, one goal in mind—revealing more of that creamy red-tinted skin.

His mate gasped beneath his hands, speechless. When he was equally as naked, Harry took his half-erection in his hand and stroked it with confident fingers. His mate twitched and his cock hardened but his eyes were still open wide and staring at Harry's face. It wasn't enough for Harry; he wanted enthrallment—complete intoxication. With ease, he reached into his head and dipped into his pool of magic—which was considerably bigger than usual. He bathed himself in it, letting it linger and glow on every surface of his body. The reaction was immediate.

With a groan so passionate it sounded painful, his mate arched off the wall, eyes screwed shut and forehead pinched. Harry smiled and reduced the magic he pushed into his mate's skin. His mate was left a breathless heap, so unhinged that only his bindings held him upright.

"No," he gasped when Harry's hand left him. "More. _Please._"

Harry made no response; instead he stepped closer and took his mate's thighs in both of his hands. He lifted them up and hitched them over his hips and his mate did his part by locking them around Harry's waist.

"Lubrication," he panted when he felt Harry's cock brushing his entrance.

"You already took care of that," Harry smirked. And before the lingering hiss of his voice had disappeared, he slid smoothly into his mate.

Harry stopped and basked in the heat and tightness. His mate writhed in pain and stifled his dry sobs by leaning forward and biting Harry's chest hard. Harry looked down on the smooth, pale back, the muscles stretched tight by the bindings still pulling his arms in opposite directions.

He raised his hands and rested them gently on tense shoulders. Then he slammed them backwards against the wall and his mate's teeth ripped off his chest, leaving it stinging and throbbing. If it had been anyone else's teeth, Harry knew, they could not have caused such a wound. But his mate was his equal in more ways than any human could ever be.

And with that, Harry latched his mouth over his mate's parted lips, ripped himself out, and forced himself back in.

His mate gasped and grunted with each thrust and Harry swallowed them up like nourishment for a starving man. He kept a steady, fluid pace, once again lacing himself with magic so that wherever they touched, his mate could feel the tingling power of it. Together, they climbed toward their peaks.

Harry released his mate's mouth and worked his way down his marble neck and across his rippling shoulder. He squirmed against the bindings but Harry only stretched his arms out even with his mate's and twined their fingers together.

"Ungh, Potter," his mate croaked in the absence of his mouth. "Ahh, more!"

Harry knew what he was asking for. He lifted his pool of magic and dumped it over his head, drenching himself. Blinding red light pulsed through his closed eyelids and he pulled back his head to look down between their undulating bodies.

He was glowing scarlet—every inch of him; his magic lighting him up from the inside out.

He looked up again and saw that his mate's eyes were open and looking at him.

"Magnificent," he breathed, just as Harry slammed into his prostate.

Harry watch in rapture as he threw back his head and his mouth fell open in a silent howl. His legs clamped tighter around Harry, his fingernails dug mercilessly into Harry's hands, his eyes glowed with red heat. And with his orgasm, he sent Harry over the edge, milking him unendingly as Harry spilled into him.

When Harry came back down he found he had collapsed onto the floor. He felt uncomfortably empty, as if his entire world had suddenly gone silent. He groped through his head and ran into his own wall, around which the second awareness spiraled. Their thoughts didn't touch but Harry could feel it reaching for him.

Someone stirred beside him and Harry opened his eyes to the familiar blackness of night.

"Release me," a voice whispered through the darkness.

Harry jolted and scrambled for his wand.

"_Relashio_," he said and Malfoy crumpled to the floor beside him.

Harry gaped, ignoring his nakedness and Malfoy's nakedness and trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

Then Malfoy rose up and towered over Harry, still a speechless, motionless heap on the floor. He scooped up his dressing gown and broomstick and stepped away.

"See you tomorrow, Potter," he said quietly, then dropped out the window and disappeared into the night.

* * *

In the morning Ron found Harry sitting up awake in his bed, his eyes ringed with the shadows of a sleepless night. He tried to rouse him for breakfast but Harry wouldn't budge. He left and returned soon after to collect him for classes. Harry vowed he was ill. Ron departed hesitantly. In the evening he returned with food which Harry didn't touch and a letter from Dumbledore.

_Please meet me in my office at your earliest convenience._

_Albus Dumbledore_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 – Like a Snake**

"If you don't speak to me, Harry, I'll be forced to use Legilimency."

This, after many others, was the one appeal for conversation Dumbledore had made that shocked Harry into response. Dumbledore had never uttered a single threat against Harry, small as this one seemed.

Harry blinked and looked up into his worried eyes, his blank expression betraying none of his shock, which had been a weak flicker to begin with. No, the only emotion dominating his thoughts at the moment was a sickening horror. It pulsed behind his eyes like a shadow so dark that not even the smallest glimmer could be found within.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice so soft it felt wrapped in feathers. "I need to know what's going on inside your head. We need to get past this. There is so much for you to know—so much to do."

Harry knew this was true. Why, only a few days ago the _Daily Prophet_ had reported several mysterious disappearances, obviously linked to Voldemort. And yet this did not matter. Voldemort did not matter. Nothing mattered. Even the monster taking up residence in Harry's head held no interest for him anymore. It had been washed away in the flood of Harry's horror. He could hardly feel it anymore but he knew it was still there somewhere, squirming in its imprisonment.

Disgust. That was one light that could be seen in the dominating shadow; still only a faint beam. But it lit up when Harry thought of the monster. It was disgusting—horrible. He was glad he had somehow put it in a cage; glad he could no longer feel it wrapped around him; glad he somehow seemed to be wrapped around it. But how long would that last? Until the next time he got an erection?

Disgusting.

"What, Harry?" breathed Dumbledore. "What's disgusting?"

Had he said that out loud? He should have expected it. It was such a putrid thought. How should he have expected to keep from vomiting it out? His brain couldn't hold it. It was too much. Too much... Too much!

"I raped Draco Malfoy," Harry blurted and immediately doubled up and heaved over the armrest of his chair.

It seemed to take forever for his stomach to purge itself of everything and when he was done it didn't feel like enough. So he hovered there, his fingers digging ruthlessly into the armrest, his elbows protruding at odd angles, his head dangling a foot over his own pool of vomit. He could feel his glasses slipping down his sweaty nose but he didn't move to save them. And no one else did either. No one else tried to sit him up—clean him up. Dumbledore seemed to have left the room.

Of course he left, Harry told himself bitterly. He's as disgusted by me as I am.

* * *

After so much time had passed that Harry's elbows had cramped and crumbled beneath him, the door opened again. Light footsteps crossed the room without hurry and Harry watched indifferently as a pair of shoes stepped toward him, around his sick. Then strong, warm hands cupped his shoulders and soft hair tickled his cheek. Harry heard a whisper, felt a tingling on his tongue, and his mouth felt clean and refreshed.

"Sit up, Potter," Malfoy said, pushing him. But the moment Harry recognized the voice he lunged away from it, almost throwing himself over the other armrest in his haste to get away. When he froze again he was pressed against the opposite wall, hands flat against the stable surface, eyes wide as saucers.

Malfoy's expression was stoic; his stance was neither tense nor relaxed. He said nothing as he watched Harry tremble and then break, a jagged gasp ripping through him.

"I'm sorry," he panted. "I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry for _what_, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, folding his arms.

Harry cringed violently but at the same time, felt an infinitesimal piece of himself unravel deep in the shadows of his head. Malfoy's anger had released a tiny part of his guilt. Suddenly he wished for Malfoy to scream and rant, to throw things, break things—break _Harry_.

"Stop it," Malfoy suddenly demanded coolly.

"S-stop what?" asked Harry.

Malfoy sneered. "Stop feeling so bloody guilty! It's sickening."

Harry nodded. Malfoy was right—he was sickening. He would apologize correctly and then he would beg for any kind of punishment Malfoy wanted to give him.

"I'm sorry," he said with intensity. "For raping you."

To his surprise, Malfoy unfolded his arms, tilted his head back, and barked one short laugh. "You're such a virgin." He strode around the chair still separating them and right up to Harry.

Harry flinched and turned his head away, waiting for the first punch. Instead, Malfoy snagged his chin with unyielding fingers and forced his face back to look at him.

"You'd be dead before you could rape me, Potter," he hissed. His grey eyes smoldered like molten steel.

"Then kill me," Harry groaned.

"Oh, shut up," Malfoy snarled and then the molten steel was pouring from his lips and into Harry's mouth.

The kiss was on fire, spreading in a stormy wind. And everywhere it touched him, Harry's shadows were lifted. He felt awake—alive. He hadn't been living before this kiss; hadn't been living before Malfoy.

A wanton moan left him shuddering when Malfoy filled his mouth, jabbing with his tongue repeatedly, eliciting suggestive images behind Harry's eyelids. His hand squeezed ever tighter on Harry's jaw and his other twined roughly around Harry's waist, pulling him flush against his hard body. Harry touched his rippling biceps with tentative fingertips and, as if rebuking him for his gentleness, Malfoy dug all ten of his fingernails into Harry at the same time he bit down hard on his bottom lip.

Harry whimpered and clutched Malfoy's arms fully. As a reward, Malfoy licked a hot trail over Harry's swollen lip, licking up the scarlet bead that had blossomed there. He planted one heavy, closed-mouth kiss over Harry's lips; then a second; then a third. Finally he pulled away and moved his second hand down to Harry's waist as he stared into his eyes, his face once again imperturbable.

"So you forgive me?" Harry panted.

"There's nothing to forgive," Malfoy said and Harry believed him. "I wanted it as much as you did—or _almost_ as much as you did." He smirked and suddenly shoved Harry away, pushing him into the wall.

"Where are you going?" Harry choked, scrambling to regain his balance.

"Dumbledore pulled me from my dinner to come console his Chosen One. I'm hungry," Malfoy said without pausing or turning back. "See you in a bit," he added.

"You will?" asked Harry.

Malfoy threw a wink over his shoulder then opened the door and disappeared. Almost immediately, Dumbledore reentered his office, pinning Harry in place with solemn eyes.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry said. He finally pushed off the wall and tried to straighten his robes surreptitiously. He didn't want Dumbledore to know he'd just been snogging the boy he'd accused himself of raping.

A cloud seemed to lift off of Dumbledore at these words. But he looked no less stern.

"Sit down, Harry. There is much we need to discuss."

With a sigh, Harry pulled out his wand and cleaned away his sick before dropping into his chair. He knew this was going to be a long visit.

* * *

Harry took one of the longer routes back to his dormitory much later that evening. His thoughts were buzzing with the conversation he'd just had with Dumbledore and he decided a nighttime stroll might help him clear his head.

Though Harry had been extremely reluctant to talk about it, Dumbledore had made his storytelling pleasantly easy, reacting understandingly to Harry's confession of his activities the previous night. While carefully skirting embarrassing words and questions, Dumbledore wrangled enough details out of Harry to write a novel about the night. They were all questions about how Harry had felt, however—none about what, specifically, Harry did.

When they had come to the undisputable decision that Harry had lost control due to both the presence of his mate and his weakened defenses while sleep, Harry already felt loads better. Though Malfoy's reassurances were mostly responsible for his brighter outlook.

Then Dumbledore had suggested something ridiculous—something unthinkable.

"Harry," he had said. "I propose that we begin devoting our lessons to teaching you to control your second half."

Second half: that's what Dumbledore had taken to calling the thing in Harry's head. At best, Harry had only ever thought of it as a second awareness. Second half seemed unreasonably friendly. It was a monster, he had assured Dumbledore thoroughly. It was beyond control. But Dumbledore seemed to think that it was only as tame as Harry made it out to be.

Admittedly, Harry had realized that _it_ was actually _him_. They were, as Dumbledore accurately implied, two halves of a whole. It was this realization that had enabled Harry to come to terms with it in the hospital wing. It was the fact that had allowed him to coexist with it. But Dumbledore claimed that wasn't enough.

"Coexisting merely is," he'd said sagely. "But co_operating _is all that could be."

"Hmph," Harry snorted as he traversed the dark, empty corridors. "All that could be what separates me from _non_existence."

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," a voice answered him.

Harry jumped a foot in the air and spun around, automatically training his wand on the interloper. Malfoy stood in the beam of his wand light, hands raised in mock surrender, smirk firmly in place. Harry lowered his wand and scowled.

"No," he disagreed. "Hearing other people talking to themselves was the first sign."

Malfoy shrugged. "Fair enough."

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, changing the subject. Despite all that had been exchanged between the two, this light banter felt the oddest yet for Harry.

"Well," Malfoy said quietly, sauntering forward. "I was waiting in your dormitory but you took so bloody long that I came to find you instead. Just as well, anyway," he added, glancing up and down the corridor, pausing in his steps. "There's a bit more appeal to this abandoned corridor than a room full of sleeping lions."

Harry narrowed his eyes and took a step back from Malfoy's advance. "What are you on about?"

With a wicked smirk, Malfoy licked his lips suggestively, taking one step forward. "I want you to _rape_ me again." He snickered at his own words and at Harry's hesitant stumble backwards.

"What's going on here, Malfoy?"

"You sound like a broken record, Potter." He adopted a whiny tone that absolutely did not sound like Harry. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? What are you on about, Malfoy? What's going on here, Malfoy?"

The next step he took was more like an aggressive stride and Harry found that his counter-step landed him flat against a wall with nowhere left to go. Malfoy leaned forward and licked his lips again. He looked like a cat ready to pounce.

"I wish you would stop droning and start _moaning_."

And then pounce he did.

Harry was pinned to the wall, Malfoy's steadfast grip holding both his hands above his head and his uncompromisingly firm body pressing into Harry's every dip and bulge—and oh, his bulge! Malfoy seemed to discover it at the very moment Harry did. His smirk turned feral and he locked his eyes on Harry's as he ground his thigh between Harry's legs.

The effect was instantaneous. Harry went at once from suspicious and untrusting to impassioned and _aching_. In the half a second before the bubble burst, Harry caught his moan between lips and teeth, just barely remembering Malfoy's cheeky comment in the haze of his lust. He gave a feeble attempt at hardening his gaze, aiming for insolence.

It worked miraculously.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously and he growled low in Harry's ear.

"Challenge accepted, Potter," he hissed and suddenly dropped.

Before Harry could look down, his fly was unzipped, his erection was release, and Malfoy swallowed him whole.

"Ah!" Harry cried out in surprise. Straight after this slip-up, he bit his lip hard to keep quiet.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. Malfoy's mouth was extraordinary! Despite Harry's admirable endowment, he was able to slide his lips right down to the very base of his cock, sheathing Harry entirely in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. While he was there, he swallowed convulsively and laved his tongue on the underside of Harry's cock. When he was gone, he swirled licks and left kisses over Harry's tender head. Between both gestures, he swept his hands up and down Harry's sides, raking sharp fingernails over his skin, pinching his nipples between fingertips, massaging his sac with tender, teasing strokes. Harry had never received a blow job before but he was pretty sure this was as good as they got.

Then, just before he was sure he would explode, a long, slender finger pressed into his arsehole and rubbed a slow circle around the inside of his channel.

Harry's moan was frivolous, masculine, shameless, and most of all, a perfect defeat.

He rode the blinding white waves of his orgasm unrestrained. And when he came down from his high he dropped to his knees and kissed Malfoy full on the lips, drawing his flavor right out of Malfoy's mouth.

"I win," Malfoy smirked when they broke apart.

Harry dropped his head back against the wall, panting. "Actually, I think I win," he objected.

Malfoy's eyes widened. "By Merlin," he whispered dramatically. "Did the Virgin-Who-Lived just make a sexual innuendo?"

Harry rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored him. He was feeling good, limber, free. He rolled his eyes back down to Malfoy and grinned, deciding to float on his cloud of bliss for a while longer, no matter where it took him.

"Draco the Debaucher," he said. "That's what they should call you."

Draco raised one eyebrow. "Who is 'they'?"

Harry's forehead crumpled in thought. Who _was_ they?

Then Draco reached out and rubbed a finger over the crease between his eyes, smoothing it. With slow movements, he dragged his finger up Harry's forehead and traced his lightning-bolt scar. Then he drew an unhurried line to the mark on his temple. Warm fingers danced over the Scitalis like familiar beads of heat. Still locked away in the darkest recesses of Harry's mind, his second awareness purred.

"He likes you," Harry sighed.

"Who does?" asked Draco, his gaze moving from Harry's mark to Harry's eyes.

"The Scytale inside me."

This time it was Draco's brow that crinkled. "Potter," he said slowly, as if speaking to a man on his deathbed. "You _are_ the Scytale inside you."

Harry dropped his gaze, staring at Draco's knees. Draco put a hand under his chin and forced his face back up. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "But I don't want to be."

Draco scoffed, dropping both his hands and pushing back to sit down fully instead of perching on his knees. "You don't have a choice."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Obviously I do. I'm not a Scytale right now, am I?" he challenged.

Draco reached out again and tapped the Scitalis bluntly. "You're _always_ a Scytale. You always were and you always will be."

He couldn't help it; Harry pouted. "But I become something else—something _more_ when I let it take me over!"

Draco shook his head as if Harry were a silly child who answered a question wrong in class. "Those changes aren't a separate being, Potter. It's still you in there, seeing, feeling, thinking. For instance, you can remember exactly what happened last night, can't you?"

He smirked when Harry blushed and nodded.

"But it feels separate," Harry said. "I can feel it inside me now, like my shadow, following me, listening to me, and yet not me."

Draco's eyes widened and he leaned forward subconsciously. "It's that divided from you?"

Harry nodded again.

"Listen, Potter, that's not good. You need to accept it; let it into you; let it become you."

"Why?" Harry demanded. "Why can't I just leave it locked up in the back of my head? Why can't I be myself?"

"It _is_ yourself, Potter!" he shouted and his temper made him Malfoy again.

Harry reeled backward, pressed into the wall, his eyes narrowed angrily.

Malfoy pressed his hands to his face and scrubbed at his eyes. He took a deep breath and spoke again in a calmer voice.

"If you don't learn to control it now, eventually it will take you over completely. There'll be no returning from that."

Harry sneered. "So what? If it is me and it takes me over then I'll be me, right?"

Malfoy didn't react to his antagonism. "It's untamed, Potter. If it takes you over, it will permanently revert you back to the original state of a Scytale. If you think you're not human now, you won't like that at all."

"What's the original state of a Scytale?" Harry asked warily, anger forgotten momentarily.

"It's what you became last night," Malfoy said.

Harry's jaw fell open. "I wasn't—I wasn't me last night?" he choked.

"You didn't know?" Malfoy asked, suddenly as surprised as Harry.

"I knew it took control then," said Harry. "But I didn't know I changed."

Malfoy pursed his lips at this new revelation. "Which means it's all the more important that you learn to control it now. It's already beginning to take charge of you without you even noticing."

"But I did notice," Harry disagreed. "I could feel that I wasn't in charge of my actions...Last night probably never would have happened if I was." He blushed.

"Be that as it may, it was still able to cloud your mind enough that you didn't notice it transform."

Harry swallowed. "And you're sure I transformed."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Positive. You'd probably notice too if the cock you were sucking was suddenly covered in scales."

"Scales?!" Harry blanched.

"Like a snake," Malfoy nodded. "You saw. I caught a glimpse of you admiring your arms just before you threw me into the wall."

Harry thought back on the moment. He could barely recall the details _before_ the shagging began. He blushed despite himself.

Malfoy chuckled, low and erotic, and Harry glanced up at him under his lashes.

"It occurs to me," Malfoy said slowly. "That I've now given you three orgasms and yet I've only had one."

* * *

_Reply to Darke: Rofl! Oh man, your review made me laugh so hard! "i am probably your oddest  
reviewer, something i take pride in :D" You sound just like me ^_^ Love you too (in an omg awsome reviewer kind of way)! And by the way, don't look out your window... I _am_ sitting there waiting to pounce xD_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 – Soft Spots**

"It occurs to me," Malfoy said slowly. "That I've now given you three orgasms and yet I've only had one."

Without meaning to, Harry's gaze was drawn to the obvious bulge in Malfoy's trousers. Malfoy leaned back casually with his hands propping him up behind him. He had the distinct air of a king waiting for his servants to bring his dinner.

"Erm," Harry mumbled. "I'm not really sure how to..." He waved a hand over Malfoy's general problematic area. "I've never been with a bloke before—hell; I've never really been with anyone! I dunno—"

"Potter," Malfoy interrupted bluntly. "We can talk all your cowardly little Gryffindor heart desires...after you suck me off."

Harry couldn't be offended by this; it was said in such a very _un_Malfoyish way. He sounded bored, maybe even irritable, but he didn't sound cruel. So, trying to find his Gryffindor bravery, Harry reached out with hesitant fingers and unzipped Malfoy's fly. Without looking, he wrapped his hand around the freed erection and squeezed gently.

"I'm not quite so breakable, Potter," said Malfoy. "I have been _raped_ before, after all." Ignoring the words, Harry noted that his voice seemed a little gruffer than usual.

With a burst of renewed vigor, he gripped the base powerfully and dropped his mouth over the head.

It was bitterer than he'd expected. The closest he'd ever come to tasting a cock before was when he kissed Malfoy after he'd sucked Harry off. Second hand, it only tasted a bit tart. And yet, Harry found the flavor oddly agreeable. It reminded him of Malfoy's smell—a dash of mint and something distinctly male. It was a flavor that burned his nose pleasantly and the taste of him burned Harry's tongue in the same way.

Trying to forget that Malfoy was hovering just above his head, watching his every move, Harry went into experimental mode. He sucked hard on the soft head, enjoying the way the skin gave under his tongue. He moved down, taking more of Malfoy into his cock, but found that his own throat obstructed his advance before he was ready to stop. He moved back up, feeling the unfamiliar terrain with his tongue. When he reached the top again, his found the leaking slit at the crest quite by accident.

Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and Harry glanced up in surprise. Had that hurt him?

"Again," Malfoy choked. His eyes were scrunched shut and the skin on the bridge of his nose wrinkled in a very different way than it did when he sneered.

Watching his face curiously, Harry swiped his tongue through the slit again, lapping up the drop that had beaded there. Again, Malfoy hissed in and Harry could physically see his shoulders tensing up.

Harry couldn't help it; he smirked.

And then he moved away from this particular pleasure spot. He wanted to find more. Malfoy's reaction was so heady that he resolved to discover every single nook and cranny that would make Malfoy squirm.

He laid a trail of wet kisses down the underside of Malfoy's shaft and then ducked down further, taking Malfoy's balls in his mouth, altering between the two. He found quickly that though he enjoyed Malfoy's cock, his balls were much nicer. Harry thought vaguely that he could suck them for hours, rolling them gently between his lips and worshiping them with his tongue.

Luckily, Malfoy seemed to appreciate this as much as Harry did. He collapsed backwards so that he was flat on the ground and used his free hands to pet Harry's back and shoulders, finally twining them firmly into his hair and tugging every so often. Likewise, he locked his legs around the top of Harry's arse and used this new position to thrust himself closer to Harry's mouth.

"My cock's lonely, Potter," he croaked after a while, his voice shrouded in a husky fog.

Harry obeyed his wishes, returning his mouth to the abandoned appendage above him. He laved it for a moment, then enveloped it as far as he could, jabbing his tongue roughly into the slit.

Malfoy groaned and pulled hard on Harry's hair.

"Unphmm," Harry moaned around Malfoy's cock when he felt his own stirring. He was surprised when Malfoy shuddered violently in and around him and that same giddy feeling sparked in the pit of his stomach again.

"Mmm," he hummed, looking up from beneath his lashes to watch Malfoy's reaction.

Malfoy's face scrunched further and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Harry decided he appreciated this—this look of desperate struggle to keep quiet—more than he would if Malfoy just embraced his verbal desires. His denial made each escaped noise that much sweeter to Harry.

"Use—hands," Malfoy panted then and Harry did so obediently grinning privately at the way Malfoy could not resist dominating him even from the bottom.

With the hand still wrapped limply around the base of Malfoy's cock, he began pumping the half that he couldn't reach with his mouth. With the other, he fondled Malfoy's sac. With his mouth, he varied between sweeping his tongue in circles as he went down and dragging it through the slit when he came up.

In moments, he could feel Malfoy's muscles spasm beneath him. He came up, let a burst of breath caress Malfoy's head, and whispered "come". And Malfoy did.

Just as Harry got him back into his mouth, Malfoy exploded, coating Harry's tongue and throat in the bittersweet flavor. Harry tried desperately to swallow it all but he choked, spluttered, and lost a mouthful over his lips.

Roughly, Malfoy yanked him up by his hair, laying Harry across his body. He crushed his lips against Harry's, sweeping his tongue out and cleaning up the mess dribbling down his chin. He plundered Harry's mouth for a long time, breathing heavily straight into Harry's lungs. Then he released him completely and slumped to the floor, panting.

Harry grinned down at him, propped up on his hands with his legs straddling Malfoy's legs. "I win," he said triumphantly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes but leaned up and nipped at the exposed flesh of Harry's neck.

"Get off me," he said, not unkindly.

Harry raised an eyebrow then dropped down onto Malfoy's chest, resting his chin on his hands there.

"I don't think so," he said. "You promised we could talk as much as I wanted after."

"Yes," agreed Malfoy, shoving him off anyway and standing up. "I did." He did up his trousers and straightened his robes. "And Slytherins never go back on their word."

Harry glared at him, rising too. "Malfoy..." he began dangerously.

Malfoy sighed. "Look Potter, it's late and here we are rutting in the corridor where we could be caught at any moment—"

"Your fault," Harry muttered.

Malfoy continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And we both have classes tomorrow. So let's just call it a night and you can send me an owl in the morning if you really must."

Harry scowled but said nothing. Malfoy turned without so much as a parting goodbye and left.

* * *

When Harry woke up the next morning he felt groggy. He had both exhausted himself and not left enough hours in the night to reenergize; the result left him with a headache pulsing in the place between his scar and his mark. With a groan, he lifted a hand and massaged the spot without opening his eyes.

"Ahem."

Harry's eyes shot open and landed on Ron and Hermione, both standing at the foot of his bed. Hermione looked worried; Ron, irritable.

"Morning..." Harry said slowly.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Hermione immediately.

Harry glanced at Ron but could not find the matching expression to his exasperation at Hermione's typical anxiety.

"Erm, bit of a headache," he confessed, sitting up and reaching for his dressing gown without letting the covers slide down to reveal his shorts. "But otherwise I'm great."

"Cut the shit, Harry," Ron snapped and Hermione jabbed her elbow into his stomach.

"What's your problem?" Harry asked, standing when he was covered and glaring at Ron.

Hermione stepped forward cautiously. "He's just worried about you. We both are. We want to know what happened yesterday."

Harry mentally slapped his forehead. Oh. Yesterday.

"Yeah," he said. "That. Well, erm...it was noth—"

"If you say it was nothing, I swear to Merlin's saggy balls I will hex you head over arse."

Now that Harry understood the situation, he felt touched by Ron's anger. Smothering a grin, he sank back onto his bed with a sigh.

"I don't think you really want to know," he said.

Hermione strode around the bed and sat in front of him, leaning forward intensely. "Of course we want to know, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow, challenging her. She didn't back down. Ron continued looking furious as he towered over Hermione, his arms crossed.

"Fine," Harry shrugged. "But don't say I didn't warn—"

"Get on with it," Ron demanded.

Harry said with confidence; "I raped Malfoy."

Hermione reeled backward with a gasp. Ron blanched and went limp, his arms dropping to his sides.

Harry smirked bemusedly at their reactions. Then he shook his head and caved to the urge to ease their horror.

"Well," he amended. "It was more consensual than all that, I suppose. Or so says Malfoy, anyway."

Hermione only looked a tiny bit better. Ron did not.

"You—you _shagged_ Malfoy?!" He gagged and held his stomach. Harry cringed from the still-vivid memory of his own moment of weakness in Dumbledore's office.

"Harry," Hermione said. Her voice was unnaturally timid. "I think you're going to have to explain."

So Harry did.

For his friends' sakes, he left out the majority of the details. All they needed to know was that he lost control, he and Malfoy solidified the deal they'd sealed with a kiss little over a week ago, and then Harry's meeting with Dumbledore.

"Oh," Harry added after all this. "And Malfoy reckons I need to learn to control it too."

"Of course they're both right, Harry," Hermione said seriously. She had gotten over her initial reaction quickly, taking back up her role as the brains of the trio as soon as she discovered there were problems to be solved.

Harry scrunched his face up in distaste. "I know they are," he admitted in defeat. "Better to control than be controlled, I suppose."

Hermione's face softened, seeing right through Harry's mask. "Controlling it will not make you a bad person, Harry. It _is_—"

"I know, I know," interrupted Harry. "It is me. I just wish it could remain a separate part of me."

He looked to Ron for support. That was how it always worked; Hermione gave him solutions and Ron bitched and moaned about those solutions, making Harry feel better in accepting them. But Ron currently was still looking sick.

"Ron?" Harry prodded. "Erm...I'm myself now, you know. It's not like I'll attack you or anything. I think it only reacts that way to Malfoy, anyway."

Ron made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. His face transformed into a mask of incredulousness and his lips formed one word: _Malfoy._

Harry sighed. It probably would not be a good time to mention that the night he transformed had neither been the first nor last time he'd been with Malfoy. It was probably an equally bad idea to inform Ron that he had no intentions of forgetting the whole ordeal and moving on. No, if Harry had to accept the Scytale half of himself, he would also have to accept that Malfoy was his mate, completely and irreversibly.

And yet, he had to do something. He had to find some way to ease Ron's revulsion.

"I'm sorry, Ron," he said firmly. "He's a right slimy git but I'm bound to him whether I like it or not. I just hope you can forgive me so you'll be around to help me, erm..._deal_ with him."

When he insulted Malfoy Ron seemed to relax a tiny bit. When he asked for forgiveness Ron's face softened some. When he asked for help in a way that suggested future torment for Malfoy Ron actually allowed a small grin to pull at the corners of his mouth.

Ron cleared his throat and made his face impassive. "Well," he grunted. "Malfoy's a damn sight worse than a house elf but I've got your back, Harry."

Harry grinned and punched Ron in the arm.

"You two!" Hermione screeched and both Harry and Ron jumped and turned to face her. "You two never fail to surprise me with your stupidity!"

With an exasperated huff of air, she spun on her heel and crossed the empty dormitory. At the door she turned back. "And you'd better get dressed. Classes start in ten minutes."

After a final roll of her eyes she stomped out.

This time, when Harry looked at Ron with a face that read _'what's with her'_ Ron gave a bewildered shrug and then laughed.

"Ha!" he barked. "Ha! Ha!"

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, grinning.

Ron pointed a finger in his face and let out an almighty "HA!"

"Malfoy deflowered you!" he cried and collapsed into a fit of hysterics.

* * *

_A/N: Saw the Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince premiere last night! I personally loved it! I was so impressed by the greatly improved acting of Dan, Rupert, and Emma. Tom Felton was painfully sexy, as always. Also Jessie Cave (the actress who played Lavender Brown) was AMAZING! What did everyone else think?_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 – Let Go**

By the evening Harry's good mood had worn off. Once again throughout the day Malfoy made no notion that anything had changed between them. Admittedly, Harry had done nothing so kind as smiling at him as he passed in the hall. And yet it was not Harry who slammed into his shoulder as he went by, causing him to drop his book bag and ruin a perfectly good bottle of ink. Neither did Harry point and snicker with his friends as he had to bend down and clean up the mess.

"My _scourgify_ needs some work," Harry sulked, examining his ink-stained bag in the common room after dinner.

Ron nodded without looking up from his homework. "I've never been good at household charms. Say, what's another word for see?"

"Ocean," Harry offered.

"No, no. See—like seeing the future."

"Oh. Erm, I dunno...look, watch, gaze?"

"Ah, gaze!" Ron scribbled excitedly for a moment. "Very mysterious. Trelawney'll love that. Anyway, you should ask Hermione for help. She's good at everything, right?"

Warily, Harry glanced across the common room at Hermione. She had secluded herself in a dark corner with a surprisingly small book perched in front of her nose. From as early as breakfast time she had been so immersed in this book that anyone who interrupted her reading lost five house points.

"Ah," Harry sighed, "Maybe I'll just send out an owl order for a new one."

Finally, Ron looked up. "This is your bag we're talking about?"

Harry nodded and allowed Ron to take it from his hands, examining the stain. "What a git," he spat.

"Yeah," Harry agreed half-hearted.

Ron glanced at him, his brow furrowed. "Any idea why he did it?"

"None!" cried Harry, throwing up his arms. It was as if Ron's question had opened a dam inside him. "I mean who acts like a complete arse the day after you give someone the world's greatest blow—"

"Oy!" Ron interrupted.

Harry slouched back in his seat, moping again. "Right, sorry."

Ron shrugged it off. "Well, it's not like he wasn't a complete arse before. I mean, this is just Malfoy."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "I guess I just expected something more after; civility at least. But you know, now that I think about it, he wasn't ever that civil _during_—if you know what I mean."

Ron's face twisted into disgust. "What?" he asked sarcastically. "He wouldn't get you off?"

"Erm, no," said Harry, blushing slightly. "I wasn't talking about that kind of stuff. I just meant that he never really lost that Malfoy edge, during. He was still always kind of cold—distant."

"So, what?" Ron asked, seriously this time. "You think he's just using you?"

Harry shrugged but remained silent. He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to consider the possibility that he'd lost every bit of his sexual innocence to someone who didn't care even the tiniest bit about him. It wasn't like he wanted a declaration of love or anything—he cringed at the very thought of it. He simply wanted the constant hostility between them to end. It was so tiring, remembering to hate someone every second of every day.

Suddenly a loud thud zinged through his head, leaving a painful throbbing in its wake.

"Ow," Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"Alright, Harry?" asked Ron.

Harry was about to respond when a second thud beat on his brain. He winced outwardly and pulled into his head to find the problem. But he wasn't fast enough. Three more sequential knocks pounded on his mental wall before he could trace them to the door he'd created ages ago with Hermione's name on it. Tentatively, he cracked it open, wary of both his second consciousness and what he'd find on the other side.

_HARRY! OPEN UP! LET ME IN, HARRY!_

Wide eyed, Harry looked up at Hermione across the room. She still had her nose in her book but now her knuckles were white, her hands were trembling, and her jaw was clenched in unbreakable concentration.

_HARRY!_ she continued to scream her thoughts at him. _LET ME IN YOUR HEAD! OPEN—_

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, loud enough for her to hear. Immediately her head flew up, along with everyone else's in the common room.

But Harry didn't care about the attention he was attracting. All that mattered was that Hermione was able to see how much discomfort she was causing him. With a shy smile, she mumbled a timid 'sorry' in his head. Harry relaxed, massaging his temples gently.

"Harry?" Ron's expression was so bewildered it could be comical but Harry only shook his head and gave Hermione a questioning look before shutting his eyes.

_I'm sorry, Harry,_ Hermione apologized again. _But there's something I wanted to tell you and I didn't think you'd want anyone else to know about it._

_You should expect Malfoy in your dormitory again tonight, Harry._

Harry looked up and showed Hermione the perplexity he was feeling through his eyes.

_This book I'm reading is called 'Mating Rituals; How to Get the One that Makes You Morph and What to do Once You Have Them'—_

That was one of the titles in the restricted section, Harry thought to himself. I saw it the night we discovered what I've become.

_It's a book I found in the restricted section,_ continued Hermione. _The night we found out that you're a Scytale. I borrowed it because I was curious to see if it had anything about Scytale in it. After all, your entire race is based around the choosing of the mate._

_Well, it has quite an extensive chapter on the Scytale after all. Everything you need to know about the Scytale-mate relationship is in this book. And Harry...what you share with Malfoy is so much more than we thought—something Malfoy must know, considering the way he's tracked you down every evening three nights in a row. _

_So, would you like to read it or would you like me to explain?_

Harry met her eye across the room again and made a show of settling deeper into his seat. He knew he would probably understand better if Hermione could tell him in plain English, rather than having to decipher an ancient novel.

_Alright; first thing you should know—and it won't be easy to hear—is that after the first time a Scytale and its mate fornicate...erm, well—_ Harry could feel Hermione blushing without looking up. _Well, the two must couple again at least every twenty-four hours thereafter for...for the rest of their lives._

Harry's face must be red too—though from anger or embarrassment he wasn't sure. So now he had to have some kind of sex with Malfoy every day until he died?! Says who? What would happen if he refused?

_If this doesn't occur often enough, the power of the Scytale will begin to drain from both._

Harry's brain was reeling with hope. It was clear as day what Hermione was saying. If Harry were to simply abstain from Malfoy for over twenty-four hours, he would no longer be a Scytale. There would be no more monster in his head, no more unwelcome thoughts in his ears; he wouldn't be a stranger to his childhood race any longer.

_And Harry,_ said Hermione, her tone grave. _This will be both an uncomfortable and irreversible process. The extent of the repercussions could be catastrophic for both you and Malfoy. It is _not _something to be taken lightly._

Making sure that he had Hermione's full attention, Harry gave her a tiny nod of understanding. Then he shut her door, rose, and swept out the portrait hole, ignoring Ron's puzzled expression.

It was a lot to think about—this new information Hermione had given him. Harry knew that. And yet he couldn't keep his elation from increasing the bounce in his step or the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He was no stranger to discomfort—that he could handle. He would never want to reverse the effects, of that he was sure. And even if Malfoy suffered a little short term, Harry was confident that in the long run, he would be grateful.

Harry glanced down at his watch cheerfully as he traversed corridors and turned corners at random, no real destination in mind. All he had to do was avoid Malfoy until midnight—three hours away.

And then Harry could be free again.

* * *

It was quarter to midnight.

Harry was stowed away a dark, abandoned dungeon, further beneath the castle than he'd ever traveled. There were no windows and the only door was made of metal bars, leading into the dimly lit corridor beyond. Chains hung around the walls, with intimidating manacles on the ends. A deteriorating wooden table was set to the side of the room.

It wasn't the most comfortable of hiding places but Harry was happy with his decision. Surely Malfoy would never think to look for Harry here.

So when he heard faint, hurried footsteps, growing ever louder, he did not worry. It was Snape, bustling along the corridors, looking for stragglers. It was Filch, hunting always for Peeves. It was anyone else in the castle full of hundreds of people with their own agendas. But it was not Malfoy.

"POTTER!"

But it was Malfoy.

"Potter! I know you're down here! Where the bloody hell are you?!"

Wide-eyed, Harry scrambled as silently as he could across the room. He ducked under the table, hiding in its shadows. It was a silly precaution. Of course Malfoy couldn't be sure he was here.

"No use hiding, Potter! I'll find you!"

His voice was getting closer. Harry heard him mutter 'lumos' and saw the light of his wand precede him through the cell door.

Harry was still crouched ridiculously when Malfoy's beam fell over him, lighting Malfoy's sneering face.

"Real mature, Potter," he scoffed.

With as much dignity as he could muster, Harry stood, allowing the table to remain between himself and Malfoy. It didn't matter that he'd been found now. There were only thirteen minutes left.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Harry spat.

Malfoy neither hesitated nor stuttered. "Take off your pants."

Harry looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Take them off or I'll do it for you."

"Leave me alone, Mal—"

"_Impedimenta!_" Malfoy shouted.

Harry was caught in the chest and ripped off his feet. His back slammed into the cold stone wall a foot off the ground.

"_Incarcerous!_"

The chains on the walls slithered into life and caught Harry before he could crumple to the floor; his toes brushed the ground. But these were bindings meant for cruelty, not kindness, and so they stretched each of Harry's four limbs in opposite directions until he couldn't so much as wriggle in place.

"Looks like the positions are reversed this time." Malfoy smirked and sauntered forward, stowing his wand in his robes. His eyes raked Harry's body predatorily.

"This is rape, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, silently praying someone would hear him.

He seemed to be at war with himself; part of him longing for this all to be a terrible dream; part of him waking up beneath Malfoy's gaze, writhing in anticipation.

"Then we'll be even," Malfoy chuckled.

Despite Harry's horror for the current situation, dread warped his insides. "You said what I did was consensual!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes but did not stop his advance, rounding the table. "Relax, Potter. I was only joking."

"But I'm not! I don't want this, Malfoy! This is rape!"

Ignoring his half-pleas, Malfoy reached forward and unbuckled Harry's belt, letting his pants drop. A hissing snicker slipped between his teeth and Harry gasped audibly. To his intense surprise, he already sported an impressive erection.

Malfoy looked up at him with one eyebrow raised. The look of amusement underlined by lust sent a jolt through Harry's cock.

"Oh, you don't want this?" he breathed huskily.

Harry watched, mesmerized by shock, as Malfoy undid his pants and pulled out his own erection. He kept eye contact with Harry as he stepped forward and used Harry's slight elevation to his advantage. The first things that brushed were their cocks.

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he narrowed his eyes in concentration. He was not ready to reveal the effect Malfoy had on him—whether he wanted it or not. And yet...Malfoy's eyes seemed to spark in recognition of his feelings.

"Let go, Potter," he whispered, and then wrapped his hand firmly around both appendages.

Achingly slowly, he began pumping his hips, sliding his cock along Harry's. He kept up his stream of whispers.

"Accept it—what you're feeling, what you're thinking. Let it out; accept it into you. It's part of you. Become one with it; share yourself with it; absorb it..."

Tilting his head back and shutting his eyes, Harry let Malfoy's touch slide over him; let Malfoy's words slip through him. With a breathy gasp, he demolished his wall and reached out with his mind, caressing his second half with the same touches Malfoy laid on him.

He felt a shiver run along the length of it as it woke from its half-sleep. It stretched up and rolled. He extended his arms to it; opened his chest to it. It came in, blanketing him, protecting him. Absorbing its strength and power, he flexed his arms, felt tremors curl down his abdomen. Exhaling, he pushed the power outward, shaping it to his desired form as it left him.

His bindings disappeared.

He slipped downward an inch and he and Malfoy fell apart. Malfoy's hand remained on his erection. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth opened in a show of ecstasy Harry did not understand.

"Let go," Harry and Malfoy breathed in the same instance.

Inhaling sharply, Malfoy released himself, extending his arms wide. With slow fluidity, Harry touched him first on his fingertips, trailing his hands inward, across his arms, over his chest, down his stomach, away from his cock, around his arse, up his back. He pulled him flush against his body and Malfoy lowered his arms, wrapping them around Harry. One slithered between their bodies as Harry lowered them over the table.

When Malfoy's hand wrapped around them again, Harry began thrusting, his muscles stronger and smoother than ever. His power laced his skin again and Malfoy's eyes fell open, watching Harry's face calmly.

"Do I have scales?" Harry whispered, pumping into Malfoy's hand.

With a breathy laugh, Malfoy shook his head. His free hand came up and petted Harry's temple, gliding down his cheek and around his neck, tangling in his hair.

"Faster," he insisted. Harry thrust faster.

"More," he required. Harry pushed out more magic.

"Ahh," he moaned. And he emptied himself over Harry.

"Not enough," he said, his voice almost a whimper.

With demanding movements, he rolled Harry onto his back. He slithered down Harry's body, igniting fire in his veins. His mouth engulfed Harry and this time, more than any other time, his progress was insistent. He did everything Harry liked, more often than Harry liked, pushing, urging, willing Harry's release.

"Let go," he persisted on every breath.

Harry squirmed and writhed, right on the edge. The clock tower that dominated the front of Hogwarts tolled once—midnight. Harry felt more than heard Malfoy's gasp.

"Let go!" He sucked hard, pulling Harry entirely into his mouth.

The clock tolled again. And again.

Malfoy whimpered and Harry saw his back muscles convulse.

A fourth chime.

"Let _go!_"

Two fingers penetrated him, brushing his insides. He shivered and moaned.

Three more chimes reverberated around them and Harry's vision turned white around the edges as he climbed the last steps.

Then, with a strangled cry, Malfoy looked directly into Harry's eyes.

A flood of feelings cascaded through Harry. At the crest there was a muted, smothering pain. Beneath was blinding panic. Harry felt suffocated, but safe; his second self constricted around his heart and mind protectively, absorbing these new emotions. And the more it absorbed, the more it expanded. It grew bigger and stronger—it pulsated with light and energy. And the light shined through the wave of feelings, clearing the fog of ache and making way for an overwhelming, floating bliss.

"Harry," Malfoy whispered. "Let go."

And Harry let go.

On the last chime, at the very peak of midnight, Harry erupted in a moaning heap of quivering bones and Malfoy consumed his life-energy, his magic, until the pain pulsing in the back of Harry's head faded and a foreign happiness swirled through him.

Malfoy rolled over and laid on the table beside Harry. For a long time, there was complete silence. Then Harry spoke.

"I saved your life tonight, Malfoy," he said, somehow sure that only moments before, Malfoy's life _had _been in peril. "You owe me an explanation."

Without moving or opening his eyes, Malfoy said, "I wasn't the only one in danger, Potter...But I'll answer your questions."


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you everyone for the awesome reviews! They really make me feel good :)_

**Chapter 17 – Interrogation**

Simultaneously, Harry and Malfoy rose and fixed their clothing. While Harry opted to remain standing, Malfoy pulled out his wand, conjured a leather armchair and settled himself regally into it.

"So," Malfoy said. "What do you want to know?"

There were so many things—he had so many questions. He decided to start with the most recent and work his way backward.

"How did you find me tonight?" he asked, diving in.

Malfoy snorted, no doubt remembering the image of Harry cowering beneath a table.

"I thought for sure you'd already figured that one out," he said.

Harry folded his arms and stared at him with a hard expression, daring Malfoy to make a dig at his intelligence. He didn't; answering the question civilly instead.

"I can hear you, Potter. Wherever you go, no matter how far—I can always hear you."

Harry cringed back mentally, instinctively slamming his wall up.

"That will do nothing," Malfoy said airily, laying his head back and resting his eyes. "There is no way to keep me out of your head, just as there is no way for others to keep you out of their heads."

Harry paled. "So you've been listening to my thoughts from the moment I first kissed you?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Wrong on both counts: I cannot hear you're thoughts—"

"But you just said—"

"I can merely taste the tenor of your emotions. I suppose if I knew you better it would be more like what you can do but as it is, I can only hear what you're feeling, not why you're feeling it."

This made Harry considerably happier. Malfoy peeked through one eye, giving him a sarcastic smile, and it made Harry slightly uncomfortable to know he was currently 'tasting' his relief.

"So what else was I wrong about?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I couldn't hear you right away after the kiss."

"When did you...it start, then?"

"The night you came to visit me in the infirmary," admitted Malfoy.

Harry had to think back. That was the night his mark had appeared on his face... He reached up and touched the Scitalis.

"Yes," Malfoy nodded, watching Harry now. "That was the night I got my mark as well."

Harry gaped at him. "Your—"

"Mark, yes. The Scitalis. Hmm..." Malfoy put his fingers together beneath his chin and stared at the ceiling in thought. "Perhaps I should just tell you all that has happened to me since your kiss. That should answer many of your questions. Unless..." He eyed Harry doubtfully. "Do you think you could keep your mouth shut while I'm speaking? I don't like to be interrupted."

Harry scowled at his haughty and yet business-like tone. "You sound like your father," he accused.

To his immense surprise, Malfoy's face split into the first real smile Harry had ever seen him wear. It faded as quickly as it came, however, but traces of it lingered in his usual smirk.

"Sit down, Potter," he said and Harry sunk obediently onto the edge of the table. "I'm going to tell you my tale...

"When you first kissed me I was furious with you. As if I ever wanted a kiss from Harry Bloody Potter! But I didn't have much time to be upset. I'd hardly even reached the door to the dungeons when I began burning—"

"I burned!" Harry interrupted without thinking.

"Hush, Potter," Malfoy scolded. He continued without waiting for Harry's apology.

"At first I could hardly walk, the pain was so much. But it slowly faded until I returned to my senses, leaving behind an angry fever that flushed my entire body. Being sensible, I went to Madam Pomfrey for a remedy. She had none.

"Sure, she packed me full of potions and ran various tests. She kept me there, determined to reduce my temperature even though I assured her I wasn't feeling ill enough to remain bedridden. But I stayed willingly enough—it's not like I had a particular desire to return to class.

"And then one night, while I was enjoying a peaceful sleep without the racket of Crabbe and Goyle's ridiculous snores, I was woken by a warm touch on my wrist. I'm a very light sleeper, you see."

He looked at Harry with amusement and Harry bit his lip, sure Malfoy was referring to the night he'd spied on him from beneath his invisibility cloak.

"There was no one there," Malfoy continued. "And yet I could feel a presence in my head that hadn't been there before. It swirled around my brain and reached out to me with its thoughts. I touched it and it told me about curiosity, confusion and pain.

"I called out to it but instead of answering me it continued on its own train of thought. Its curiosity morphed into doubt. Its pain faded mostly. I spoke to it again, trying to ease its doubt—reassure it.

"It was stubborn. It exploded with panic and its voice suddenly became muffled, as if it had thrown a blanket over itself. But I could see the edges—I could lift the blanket if I wanted to. I did. I peeked beneath and I told it, bluntly, that I _could_ hear it, whether it wanted me to or not.

"Then I heard footsteps. Someone had been standing, invisible, by my bedside. They ran out of the room. The voice beneath the blanket seemed like it was trying to run too, but it was running in place. It was in my head, there was no escape for it—nowhere to go. I heard it even as the infirmary door slammed on the intruder's exit.

"For some time, all it felt was panic. There was not much coherency." At this, Malfoy smirked at Harry. "And then its panic seemed to solidify, not so wild anymore—focused. It was this way for a short time, almost calming, and then it sunk into a dread so hopeless it made my chest hurt."

Harry's mouth was hanging open, listening in rapt attention, seeing the actions in his memory that went with the emotions Malfoy described. "That was when I saw the Scitalis on my face," he whispered. "The physical sign that I wasn't me anymore."

Malfoy's face softened slightly but he said nothing in reply, instead continuing his tale.

"I listened to the rest of the night. It never came out from beneath its blanket but it didn't matter to me. I could still hear it. I could hear as it eventually calmed and clarified as it found purpose—that's what it felt. It had a goal and it focused on it—determination."

"We were trying to hide my mark," Harry explained.

"And while it focused on its goal, I began on my own. I wanted to figure out what I was hearing. I wanted to figure out who'd been beside me earlier in the night. I had many theories, some ridiculous, some plausible, some frightening.

"Throughout the night my head began to ache, both with my own thoughts and with the new thoughts of the one beneath the blanket. It was growing frustrated. Its negative feelings throbbed in my head. It was dawn and I knew Madam Pomfrey would be up soon to fuss over me. I decided to take a shower to soothe myself before this happened.

"When I was naked, I turned to get in the shower. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. I saw my mark—my own Scitalis.

"Instantly, all my theories flew out of my head...All but one. I recognized the Scitalis instantly. I had already made the connection between hearing thoughts and the legend of the Scytale. It was one of my more doubtful theories because I was feeling emotions more than I was hearing thoughts. But when I saw the Scitalis I knew.

"I checked out of the infirmary hastily, much to Madam Pomfrey's displeasure. I went to the owlery and sent a letter to my mother. And then I focused all my attention on the blanketed feelings. If I focused close enough, I could recognize the tone. It was your voice—your feelings. I put all the pieces together then and I knew just what had happened."

Malfoy sneered at Harry, who was feeling abashed. "My fury with you then was unparalleled. Imagine how I felt, Potter. I had been forced out of the circle of humanity by my least favorite person whose feelings I now had to feel, whose problems I now had to bear. And at the time, I thought you'd had every intention of transforming me with your blasted kiss."

"But I didn't," Harry whispered, remorseful.

Malfoy ignored him. "I waited in the owlery until I'd had my reply from my mother. Then I hid myself away in my dormitory. I did research. I already knew much about Scytale but I needed to know more—I was one now. I read and thought and sulked throughout the day. When I finally fell asleep it was early in the morning and so I overslept. Then I was woken forcefully. You woke me.

"You erupted in anger inside my head. It was horrible—hot, so hot. And then it was _wonderful_. There was so much power—I could feel it. I didn't understand what was happening but I didn't care. I was suddenly addicted. Your blanket was a thing of the past. Now you reared and stretched in my head, circling around me, smothering me in your rage and strength. It was enthralling, consuming—"

Suddenly a violent tremor ran through Malfoy and his eyes shut in ecstasy at the memory. "Arousing," he hissed.

Harry gaped in silence, absorbed by the expression on Malfoy's face, the way his hands dug at the fabric of the armchair. His lips were parted, offering tantalizing pants to Harry's ears. For a long time, neither said a word.

Then Malfoy seemed to relax, unwind. He did not open his eyes. "And then it all went out," he breathed. "Dark, silent...empty. You were everywhere. And then, suddenly, you were nowhere. I couldn't find you.

"My dorm mates entered the room. They couldn't see me behind my curtains. They were laughing, talking. Harry Potter had been taken to the hospital wing this morning. He was unconscious.

"I wanted to fly from the room. I wanted you to wake up. I _needed_ to feel you again."

Harry swallowed, his cock twitching at the double-meaning behind those words. Malfoy cracked an eye and smirked at Harry. With a blush, Harry realized he could feel his arousal. What a nuisance this was going to be.

"However," said Malfoy. "I remained in place. I knew you would be surrounded throughout the day by professors, the nurse, your friends. The moment darkness fell I crept to the ward, but you weren't left alone. Dumbledore was there explaining the situation to McGonagall. So I had to wait another day. It was agony.

"That night, thankfully, I found you alone. You were still unconscious and so I sat down beside you and wondered. What could I do that hadn't already been done to pull you out of your unconsciousness? But eventually the emptiness became so much that my hand moved without my direction. It touched you—"

"I felt you!" Harry said, realization striking him. "It was you!"

Malfoy grinned. "I don't know how I did it, but I woke you up."

Harry looked down, thoughtful. "I don't know how you did it either...One moment I was too scared to occupy my own head. And the next, I felt you touching me and I sort of...followed your touch. And I grew." He shrugged, helpless to explain his own thoughts.

Malfoy had his eyes closed again and his forehead was wrinkled in concentration and Harry had the distinct feeling that he was listening his way through Harry's feelings.

"What do you hear?" he whispered.

Malfoy sighed and opened his eyes. He did not answer Harry's question.

"I left when I could feel you again. I slept easy that night and remained easy the next day. I was still angry—so angry. But I felt better when I could hear you. I tried not to focus on you too much throughout the next day and night but I kept catching myself becoming completely absorbed by your emotions, listening and wondering and glorying in the feel of them. It made me angrier.

"And then you chased me down the next day after lunch. I knew what you wanted. After so long I was better at feeling my way through your emotions, understanding how they connected. You tasted like regret and obligation that day. But I didn't care what you had to say. I just wanted you to leave me alone; I wanted you out of my head. And at the same time I remembered the terrible emptiness of when you weren't there and I knew you never couldn't be again.

"Then you said something I'm sure you didn't find nearly as important as I did. You said you hadn't meant to kiss me. You had, in fact, no one particular person in mind for that kiss. It was a stupid test, not a terrible cage you were trying to trap someone in.

"From that moment onward my anger was completely vanished. I could rest easy in the flow of your emotions; embrace the pleasure it gave me to feel you. And more than that, I could begin advancing our transformations—our power. If we consummated...

"I went to your dormitory that night and—"

Suddenly Malfoy cut off and Harry ripped his eyes open, not even realizing they'd fallen closed as he listened. He pursued Malfoy's face with his eyes, marking elation, lust, rapture, shock, regret and then nothing as Malfoy hardened his expression.

"Well," Malfoy said gruffly. He cleared his throat and readjusted himself in his seat. "You know what happens from there."

Harry said nothing, wondering about Malfoy's abrupt ending.

"Does that answer all your questions?" he asked impatiently.

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts and frowned. "Not nearly," he admitted.

Malfoy made a noise of irritation in the back of his throat. "What more do you want to know?" he demanded.

"First of all," Harry snarled, ruffled by Malfoy's sudden temper. "Explain the letter to your mother. What? Now she knows about all of this? Was that really necessary?"

Malfoy scowled. "My mother is not a stupid woman; she has probably guessed at the situation. But my letter was not a confession, it was a request."

"For?" urged Harry.

"For books. Haven't you wondered how I know so much about Scytale?"

Harry glowered. He had wondered but it had slipped his mind in the wake of Malfoy's story. He didn't like the way Malfoy looked at him now; as if he were too dense to notice the important points.

"Many years ago, before the Dark Lord met you and fell from power, my father was given an assignment on which he worked with Walden Macnair. They were to research all magical creatures, common and obscure, and put together detailed reports for the Dark Lord."

Harry's forehead creased. "Why did Voldemort want that?" he asked.

Malfoy cringed and looked away. "I don't presume to know his reasons."

With a sigh, Harry nodded, urging Malfoy to continue.

"For my tenth birthday my mother offered to get me a pet. She asked me what creature I might want. I went to our library to research magical pets—because of my father's assignment our library is now well stocked on creatures. I wandered into the humanoid section and, quite by accident, came across a few books on Scytale. They intrigued me. I read them all. When I owled my mother it was a request for her to send me those books so that I might reread them with my new perspective."

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about this. Curiosity about Voldemort's interest in magical creatures; excitement about the multiple books in Malfoy's possession; jealousy about the limited information Harry had about Scytale—all fighting to dominate. With bitterness, he pulled out the page he'd taken to carrying with him everywhere.

"This," he said, flattening it out on the table. "Is all I know about Scytale."

Malfoy hardly glanced at it, saying nothing. Harry looked down at the page in the lull, examining it for the hundredth time. A particular sentence caught his eye and he remembered something Malfoy had said.

"Malfoy," he gasped, scanning his face. "I thought you said you had a mark, too!"

Malfoy pursed his lips and didn't reply. Then he rose and reached for his belt buckle. Without hesitation, he undid his trousers.

Harry looked away just before he heard the rustle that signified them falling to the floor. "What are you doing?" he hissed urgently, his ears burning.

"Look at me, Potter," Malfoy drawled.

With a deep breath, Harry obeyed. Malfoy stood there confidently, his pants down, his shirt lifted, baring his middle to Harry. And there, just above and to the right of his flaccid cock, was a swirling, silver snake, its three tails coiled provocatively around and into the pale curls between his legs.

Harry was entranced by it. He wanted to touch it. Why, he thought enviously, was Malfoy's mark so erotic and sensual, when Harry's mark was so annoying and obvious?

Malfoy chuckled, low in his throat, and Harry noticed his cock stirring slightly.

"No reason to be jealous, Potter," he said huskily. "My wand _is _magnificent but yours isn't completely disgusting."

Harry's eyes shot up to his face, glaring. "I wasn't jealous about _that_, Malfoy!" he spat. "I just..." His face fell. "My mark is so bloody annoying! I don't need anything else on my face for people to gawk at."

Malfoy said nothing, instead bending and pulling up his pants.

"But," Harry started slowly. "This page says that the Scytale's mate has the power to remove its mark..."

"Temporarily," Malfoy amended casually.

Hope blossomed in Harry's belly. "But it's possible!"

Malfoy sighed. "Yes, it's possible."

"Do you know how to do it?"

Malfoy was still. Then he nodded briefly. Harry's face split into a grin.

"Would you do it?" he asked breathlessly.

"I don't think...that it would be good for you," Malfoy said slowly.

Harry's jaw dropped. "What'd you mean it wouldn't be good for me? The book doesn't say anything about it being harmful."

"No, it's not harmful...I just don't think it would help you."

"Of course it would!" Harry was getting angry now. "It would help me not stand out so much! It would help me feel better—help me fit in!"

"But you don't fit in!" Malfoy exploded. "And you aren't fitting in!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" hissed Harry.

Malfoy scowled. "Do you remember the blanket, Potter? You're still under it. I can hear you but you're muffled. Your wall is up. You're not fitting in. I don't know how many times I've told you—you need to _accept_ this!"

Harry's first reaction was to get angrier. Hadn't he just let the thing completely into himself not long ago? Hadn't he accepted it completely in the middle of the sex they'd just had? So maybe he pushed it back out after his orgasm but the point was he let it in!

And then his anger began to ebb and his fear and reluctance spilled forward.

"I don't know how to accept it," he admitted quietly, sagging onto the table. "How can you accept it so easily?"

"I accept it," Malfoy said softly. "Because there's nothing else to do. It's not reversible, it's not curable. And I like it."

Harry looked at him doubtfully. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I do, Potter. I told you—I'm addicted to it. It feels _good_. And when I don't have it, it's uncomfortable to the point of painful."

"I don't feel that," said Harry. "When I don't have it I feel better."

But that wasn't entirely true. Lately Harry had begun feeling exhausted by the effort it took to constantly work on keeping it out. And those brief moments when he let it in were magnificent. The power, the thrill, the magic, the strength; they all consumed him in a fire of bliss. He _wanted_ it. But his want frightened him.

"You can't lie to me anymore, Potter," Malfoy said, tapping his head, and his smirk was more of a smile.

This struck something in Harry. Memories of cruelty and rudeness; recent memories.

"If you're so accepting of this—of me," he said. "Then why do you still act like my enemy when we're not alone? Why did you run off last night without talking? Why can't we reconcile in public?"

Malfoy sighed and tensed up into his rigid, superior posture once again. "Because I don't see the point," he confessed. "You're not as bad as I once thought. I don't mind you. But there's no point in giving the world more to talk about.

"They can see your mark," he said. "The smart ones might recognize it. That's risk enough. Do we really need to give them even more clues?"

Harry only had to think about this a minute. It was a good point. He shrugged. Then his eyes narrowed slyly.

"But you know," he murmured. "They wouldn't have any clues if you would just hide my mark."

Malfoy laughed. "Listen, I'll make you a deal. Once you've learned to let your wall down completely and always—to accept the Scytale part of you—then I'll hide your mark whenever you want."

Harry scowled but agreed grudgingly. He lifted himself up onto the table and let his legs dangle over the edge. Malfoy sat back in his chair. Together they lapsed into comfortable silence. Shortly, Harry became curious about what was occupying Malfoy's thoughts.

Rummaging through his head, he found the door with Malfoy's name on it. Slowly, he opened it.

But nothing happened.

Bewilderment flooded Harry, making his face distort unhappily. Malfoy chuckled and Harry looked up warily.

"What?" he asked.

"It won't work," Malfoy said, his tone arrogant.

"What won't?" snapped Harry.

"I can feel you prodding around in my head but you won't be able to get in unless I let you in."

"And why not? I thought you said no one could keep me out!"

Malfoy shrugged. "With the exception of me, then."

"Well...That's just—that's..." Harry spluttered angrily. "That's not fair!"

Malfoy laughed again. "I think it's plenty fair. In fact, if it's unfair for anyone, it's me."

"How do you figure?" demanded Harry.

"Easy; you can hear the thoughts of everyone—except me. I can hear the thoughts of no one—except you."

Harry's eyes widened. "You can only hear me? I thought you could hear everyone too."

Malfoy shook his head. "Only you. Lucky me."

"I wonder why that is..."

"The unexplainable differences between Scytale and mate." Malfoy brushed it off. "All Scytale are slightly different."

Harry lapsed into thought again but not for long.

"Hold on!" he said loudly. "I can't hear Dumbledore either!"

"Can't you?" Malfoy looked shocked and then disgruntled. "All the more reason to embrace your inner Scytale."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Well, they say Dumbledore's the most powerful wizard in the world. He's not likely going to leave his mind open for anyone with a speck of power to dig through. It's true that no one can keep you out, but that doesn't mean they can't _try_."

"So...I could potentially get into Dumbledore's head?"

Malfoy nodded. "If you were to use all of yourself. Probably you haven't gotten in yet simply because you haven't tried."

Harry's brain was reeling. He couldn't even imagine it—hearing Dumbledore's thoughts. What in the world went on in Dumbledore's brilliant mind? He wasn't sure he wanted to know...

Malfoy yawned and stood up. "It's late," he said. "Would your Highness allow me to retire for the night?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry stood also and together they left the cell, making their way into the higher levels of the dungeons. When they reached the Slytherin common room, Malfoy nodded by way of a silent goodbye and left Harry alone. Harry tried not to let his happiness take him over, knowing that Malfoy could still hear him, no matter how far apart they were.

When he reached the Fat Lady, his exhaustion was catching up to him. He was about to give the password when the Fat Lady squawked down at him.

"Potter! Where have you been?! You should be packing, young man!"

"Packing?" Harry asked.

"Off with you!" she said, opening without prompting for the password. "Get inside!"

To his surprise, the common room was as crowded and loud as any evening just after dinner. But it wasn't evening; it was nearly two in the morning!

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, flying at him and dragging him into the common room. "Oh thank god you're okay! Quickly, get upstairs! Ron's been packing your things. We'll be leaving soon!"

That was when Harry noticed that everyone in the common room was standing next to or sitting on their school trunks and scattered amongst the students were caged owls and cats. But more worrisome and confusing than this were the looks of sheer terror on every face.

"What's happened, Hermione?" Harry whispered.

With a broken sob, Hermione gripped his arm painfully tight.

"The Death Eaters have attacked the Ministry. Cornelius Fudge is dead… Harry, they're shutting down Hogwarts."


	18. Chapter 18

_Continual thanks for the reviews :D_

**Chapter 18 – Magical Spunk**

Harry burst into Dumbledore's office without waiting for an invitation. He wasn't surprised to see it filled with professors.

"Harry!" Hagrid shouted. "What're ya—"

"Professor," Harry interrupted, weaving through the bodies to where Dumbledore stood behind his desk. "You can't close the school! Hogwarts is the safest place for everyone to be right now!"

Professor McGonagall stepped forward and looked down her nose at him. "It's hardly up to you to make decisions for the Headmaster, Potter!"

"Thank you, Minerva." Dumbledore held up his hand both to hush McGonagall and Harry. He turned away from them. "As I was saying: the decision has been made for us; owls from more than half the families of the students demanding their children home. Therefore, we will give them what they want while putting forth all our best efforts to keep them safe.

"So Filius, you may begin evacuating the Ravenclaws. Pomona, if you'd have the Hufflepuffs prepared to leave as soon as he's done."

"Right you are, Dumbledore!" tiny Professor Flitwick squeaked, following Professor Sprout out of the office. This left only Harry, Dumbledore, Hagrid, McGonagall and Snape, currently sticking to the shadows.

"Hagrid," continued Dumbledore. "I'd like you to prepare the Gryffindors and lead them to the evacuation point. When they're gone, please meet me at Order Headquarters."

With a last weary glance at Harry, Hagrid bustled out. Before Dumbledore could turn orders on Snape, however, he slipped out of his corner and spoke.

"Once again the Slytherins have been demoted to last place; risking their safety for a bunch of Gryffindors."

"In this case, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "I believe the Slytherins are safer than most of the rest of us."

Snape said nothing, merely whisking past to the door.

"Severus." He paused but did not turn back. "Please send Mr. Malfoy immediately and when your House is safe, I'd like you at Headquarters as well."

He left without acknowledgement of Dumbledore's requests.

"Minerva." Dumbledore continued to ignore Harry's presence. "I must ask you to aid the community today. Find as many members of the Invisibility Task Force as you can and work to organize a protection party. Set up safe zones as well as offering basic protection on individual homes. Filius will join you when he's got the Ravenclaws out."

McGonagall straightened at being given such a task. Withdrawing her wand importantly, she inclined her head to Dumbledore and swept from the room. Finally, Dumbledore turned to Harry.

"Now Harry, of you I must ask quite a lot as well."

Harry's eyes widened. Dumbledore was giving him a task?

"You may no longer return to your relatives' home," he said gravely. "It isn't safe."

"That's okay," said Harry. "I'm sure the Weasleys wouldn't mind—"

"Yes, I'm quite positive the Weasleys would welcome you. However, you carry a lot of baggage, Harry, and I don't think they'd be quite as open to having Draco Malfoy as a houseguest."

Bewilderment flooded him. "Malfoy?"

"Did someone call?" a silky voice answered.

Harry spun and Malfoy smirked at his open mouth as he sidled into the office.

"Is it really necessary to be shutting down the school, Headmaster?" he asked and Harry was once again forcefully reminded of Lucius Malfoy. The thought made him shudder. "It seems a shame to scatter. Safety in numbers, you know."

"Have no fear, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore and Harry thought it comical that his tone was so serious. Surely he realized Malfoy was being sarcastic. "I would not have you in danger."

Malfoy looked down his long, pointed nose at Dumbledore. "And what would you presume to do with me? Let me fend for myself in the Dark Lord's very lair?"

Frustration was beginning to rise in Harry. They cryptic tone of the conversation, along with the fact that it completely excluded Harry, was maddening.

As if hearing his thoughts—which, Harry had to remind himself, he had—Malfoy turned to him. He rolled his eyes.

"Think, Potter. You know the answer to this one."

But it didn't matter if he knew or not, because the moment he was caught in the cold grey gaze, he didn't care anyway. Malfoy smirked knowingly. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"There is an organization," he said. "Committed to fighting Lord Voldemort and his followers. It is called the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry blanched. His eyes widened as he looked quickly between a calm Dumbledore and a calculating Malfoy. But Dumbledore wasn't done.

"Its Headquarters are protected by the Fidelius Charm among others. I am its secret keeper." Here, he pierced Malfoy with his most stern an unyielding stare. Malfoy did not flinch. "If you would like my protection, Mr. Malfoy, I will tell you where it's hidden."

For a second that drew on through years, there was silence in the office. Harry caught his breath and held it, eyes wide, spine rigid. Actively, he opened a new door in his head and reached for Dumbledore's mind, desperate to know what he was thinking—_how_he thought he could trust Malfoy with so much. He was blocked by a mental barrier so strong it actually hurt to touch it. Harry cringed physically and missed the flickering look Malfoy shot him.

Then Malfoy nodded curtly and Dumbledore's eyes sparkled again. He said;

"The Order of the Phoenix resides at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

* * *

Harry was once again trapped in a home he hated.

He hadn't stepped foot in Grimmauld Place since Sirius Black's death and he had strongly hoped he'd never have to do so again. He was currently holed up in his dark and empty bedroom, trying to decide whether or not the Dursleys' home would be worse. He thought not.

Maybe the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would be bearable if he could be allowed into the Order meeting taking place downstairs at this very moment. Maybe it would be okay if he could owl Ron and Hermione, both staying at the warded and impenetrable Burrow; or at least if he had been able to give them a proper goodbye. He was sure it would have been at least better if he didn't have to deal with both the snakes in and out of his head.

"Potter!"

Speak of the devil, Harry thought resentfully, and he doth appear.

His bedroom door flew open and Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, hands on hips, superior look firmly in place.

"Get up, you lazy sack. It's time to fuck."

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Harry grumped.

Malfoy laughed. "Precisely what I'm here for." He bounded into the room and threw himself onto the bed, smirking airily at Harry.

For some unfathomable reason, ever since they'd arrived at Grimmauld Place a day ago, Malfoy had been in a very uncharacteristically good mood. For the most part he'd kept to the first floor drawing room, presumably because he enjoyed the tapestry there, but the isolation in itself was a sign of his optimism. Harry didn't know why he had to spoil it now.

Laughing again, Malfoy rolled onto his front and propped his head up to look at Harry.

"C'mon, Potter, get those pants down," he said.

Harry narrowed his eyes and looked away.

"What?" asked Malfoy. "Is it romance you want? Passion?" There was a shift of clothing and bed sheets and suddenly Malfoy's breath was wafting over his face. "Oh, Harry," he whispered. "Harry, with your beautiful eyes of toad spawn green. Please take me!"

"Gerroff!" Harry mumbled. "M'not in the mood."

As suddenly as he'd arrived, Malfoy sprang backwards, standing away from Harry and looking down on him sternly.

"Oh, wee Potty's not in the mood. Well I suppose I should just go rot in my own skin because he won't grace me with his magical spunk. Merlin forbid I inconvenience the great Chosen Git with something as trivial as my life."

"Shut it," snapped Harry.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. "So what is it, Potter? Anything to get out of a good fuck? Do you miss your little friends or are you just sulking over your dead godfather?"

Harry growled. He knew what Malfoy was doing; he knew he was being provoked. "Malfoy, I'm warning you."

"Because if that's it," Malfoy continued without a care. "You can just get over it. I'm sure the dog got what he deser—"

"_Silencio!_"

Harry threw the charm at Malfoy so hard that it not only silenced him, it sent him flying backwards, rolling over the bed, and crashing out of sight. And Harry didn't even have his wand out.

With an ominous hiss, Harry rose fluidly and crossed the room. His vision flickered in and out of red and he could physically feel his muscles and magic rippling beneath his skin. When he reached Malfoy he was vaguely surprised to see his mouth open wide, the veins in his neck popping as he forcefully willed the noise out of his mouth.

While he continued to struggle with his voice, Harry picked him up with one hand and threw him onto the bed.

"You want to fuck?" he hissed and waved a hand over Malfoy's body, rendering him free of clothes.

Malfoy showed no sign of indignation or even recognition at his sudden nakedness. His face was screwed up in concentration and in the time it took Harry to figure out what he was doing, he'd already done it.

"No!" Malfoy snarled, having successfully thrown the charm. He reached up and grabbed Harry's shirt and before Harry knew it he was on his stomach, his face pressed into the mattress, with Malfoy's knee between his shoulder blades. "It's my turn this time!"

He felt a hand wriggling between the mattress and his abdomen and a moment later, Malfoy was forcefully yanking his pants down.

Harry struggled and flung his arms and legs about. He could feel his enhanced strength in every move he made but somehow Malfoy was able to match it. A hand tangled painfully into his hair and his head was pinned. He kicked his feet but Malfoy moved and pressed both his knees into the backs of Harry's thighs, digging his elbow into Harry's freed back to keep him still.

"Auuuugh," Harry groaned in pain, his voice muffled by the bed. "Get the fuck off me, Malfoy!"

"Sorry, Potter," grunted Malfoy. "But it's time you learned your place."

Suddenly, two cool fingers penetrated Harry's arsehole and he hissed at the faint sting of it. The beast that had been fighting for dominance in his head suddenly recoiled into a fluttering, purring heap. A shudder ripped down Harry's spine.

"That's it," Malfoy breathed. He was still panting from the effort of holding Harry down, even though Harry had all but fallen still. "Control it."

A third finger joined the first two and the three worked to stretch Harry's opening. Harry knew why; he knew what was coming. He didn't particularly want it. He'd been content thus far with topping. And yet he could feel his cock—hard and aching—digging into the mattress.

"Malfoy," he begged almost silently. His voice quavered sickeningly and he resolved to keep his mouth shut.

But Malfoy could hear his moods flip from pain to worry to disgust to tenacity. He chuckled—a low, rumbling noise—and then his fingers disappeared.

"Get ready, Potter," he murmured. "I've been kinder to you than you were to me, but that kindness ends here."

Then he pushed fluidly into Harry until he was seated fully inside.

Harry cried out much louder than he would have liked too. The thing inside him writhed in ecstasy while he writhed in agony. The tiny preparations he'd been given had been useless; they'd done nothing! The pain; it was terrible—oh! It was glorious!

"Ahhhh," moaned Harry as Malfoy pulled completely out of him.

The warm friction, the smooth graze of Malfoy's soft skin eased the stinging inside him. It faded into a throb and then a tingle that allowed his muscles to relax. And then Malfoy slid back in.

Harry went limp, sagging completely into the mattress. Malfoy's elbow still chaffed on his bones; his fingernails still ripped at the skin of Harry's scalp; Harry's legs had gone numb from the majority of Malfoy's weight pressing into the backs of his knees. But he didn't care. Malfoy's cock was inside him, spreading him, igniting him.

"Faster," he breathed.

"Shut up," Malfoy snapped, but the venom had gone from his voice. He sounded gruffer, like he was trying desperately to hold something in that just wanted out.

He moved no faster, entering and retreating fully, slowly, calmly.

Harry squirmed and rutted against the bed, trying to find more stimulation. Malfoy's fingers tightened in his hair and pulled. Harry groaned at the pain it elicited but this time the noise was full of appreciation. He shifted and Malfoy's elbow popped over a nerve, sending a sting zipping down his spine. His arse and leg muscles clenched in satisfaction.

Malfoy grunted at the sensation and then the dam broke.

"Oh!" cried Harry as Malfoy began fucking him thoroughly. He couldn't say it was better than the slow pace. Both were magnificent. But it was _more_ and more was exactly what he needed.

With each thrust he pushed himself up onto Malfoy. With each withdrawal he squeezed himself around Malfoy, desperately trying to hold him inside. Slowly, a dull ache began spreading through his arse, down his legs, and up his spine. He loved it; reveled in it. It leaked out his mouth in impassioned moans and curled his fingers into the sheets.

He had to turn his head to get air and when he did it sparked new movement in Malfoy. He leaned down and took the soft skin of Harry's neck between his teeth. His tongue and lips went to work leaving a trail of marks from ear to shoulder and Harry trembled in wave after wave of pleasure rolling through him.

"Oh gods," he breathed, every muscle in his body seizing up.

"Come for me," Malfoy rumbled sensually.

And he did.

His eyes screwed shut and he convulsed. And in the middle of it all he felt Malfoy draining himself into him, filling him. When he could finally relax he felt boneless, like the weight of Malfoy, draped across his back, would flatten him. Yet, at the same time, he couldn't face the weightlessness or emptiness of Malfoy moving off and out of him.

Harry felt Malfoy take a deep breath against his back and one finger traced his mark lightly. He didn't open his eyes.

"Well," Malfoy croaked. "At least now, when the old man comes 'round, we'll be able to tell him we've been working on his assignment."

"Assignment?" Harry's brains felt like mush in his head.

"You know, to get you practicing control over your inner Scytale."

"Right," mumbled Harry, not really caring.

A rumble vibrated through Harry's back as Malfoy chuckled. His breath caressed Harry's ear.

"And that was without even touching your cock," his whispered huskily and bit down.

A gust of air escaped Harry and he couldn't stop the grin that pulled at his lips. Was he actually looking forward to experiencing what might happen when Malfoy _did_ touch him?


	19. Chapter 19

_Thank you, Sarah, for agreeing to be my beta and doing a great job with this chapter :D_

**Chapter 19 – Betrayal**

The next day, Harry woke up hanging half off his bed. His hand was dragging on the floor and his leg was dangerously close to joining it. As he shifted over to keep himself from falling, he wondered what had changed. He was usually a very peaceful sleeper, never tossing and turning unless he had a nightmare. And yet, he couldn't remember dreaming at all last night. Then someone shifted beside him and an arm fell over his bare back.

Harry froze. It was Malfoy. Malfoy was in bed with Harry. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had fallen asleep together after a terrific round of sex. And apparently Malfoy was a rather restless sleeper.

And then Harry relaxed. Because somehow, that thought held none of the disgust or incredulity it might have only a week ago. Somehow, it made Harry feel warm and fuzzy inside. Somehow, he'd grown accustomed, even comfortable—especially comfortable—with Malfoy's presence.

Very slowly, Harry rolled onto his side so that he faced Malfoy. The arm over him contracted, squeezing Harry lightly. It sent tingles down his spine. And there was Malfoy's face, scrunched in reaction to a dream, skin as smooth as ivory in the soft morning light streaming in through the window.

Suddenly, Harry was overcome with the overwhelming urge to touch him. He could feel his second awareness squirming pleasantly in the back of his head, but he knew this desire was all him. He couldn't resist. He reached out hesitantly and brushed back a strand of pale hair from Malfoy's face.

"I've told you before that I'm a light sleeper, Potter."

Harry gasped, reeled back, and tumbled over the side of the bed.

"Uugh," he groaned, arching his back against the pain.

Malfoy's face appeared above him. His smirk was triumphant and a little hissing snicker escaped through his teeth. He rested his chin on the edge of the bed, doing nothing to help Harry.

"Now that's something I could wake up to every morning."

Harry remained still, gazing up at Malfoy. His first reaction might have been to take offense to that statement, but something about it appealed to Harry's more romantic side.

"Every morning?" he asked softly.

Malfoy's face morphed into faint disgust and he pulled back before sliding out of bed feet first. Harry watched as he crossed the room completely naked.

"Don't get all Gryffindor on me, Potter," he said, opening the door. "It was just a fuck."

Harry picked himself up in his absence and began gathering what he'd need to take a shower. Inwardly, he was berating himself for his stupidity. How could he be growing attached to Malfoy? Like he said, it was just a fuck. They were just two blokes, who were forced together by Harry's obscure genetics. They weren't lovers. They weren't even friends.

And yet, Harry thought as he entered the bathroom, I know something's changed—for me at least.

* * *

The kitchen was empty today. All the Order members were out on their own missions—Harry wasn't sure what any of those were. He desperately longed for a newspaper but Voldemort had shut down the _Prophet_ and the owners of the smaller newspapers had all gone into hiding. Harry felt so helpless and cut off from the world here in Grimmauld Place. But Dumbledore had given him his own mission and though he hadn't had time to explain the importance of it, Harry trusted his judgment.

"You're not even trying, Potter!" Malfoy barked for what seemed like the hundredth time. His good mood had worn away quickly that morning, but Harry had found an abundant store of patience where Malfoy was concerned.

"I don't know how to try, Malfoy. I can feel it. I can feel how to open up to it. But I can't seem to do it. It goes against the grain."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It goes against the grain to have someone control you." Harry nodded. "So don't let it control you! Instead of opening yourself, open it. Get inside it—take it over."

"Easier said than done," Harry murmured. But he tried.

Closing his eyes and pulling away from Malfoy, Grimmauld Place, and the world, he retreated into his head and sought his second awareness. It was more alert than usual, waiting for him, anticipating what he was trying to do. It had stretched itself all around him, patiently waiting for him to open up. But Malfoy had suggested a different way, so Harry began to rearrange things inside his head.

He mentally pictured himself and the creature reversed. Immediately, the change took place. He could feel himself like a great blanket, stretched over and around, holding on to the ends of himself to make an endless net. And inside his net he could feel the creature, a squirming, helpless ball.

That's right, he could control it. It was him. He could control him. So, he constructed a door in his mind and pulled it open. The creature writhed as he poured himself inside it, stretching himself further to fill each of its corners. It felt like pulling on a jumper. A jumper was warm and safe but it was also an inanimate object. Its wearer chose when to wear it and when to take it off. Harry was choosing to wear it. It was a perfect fit.

Ripples of magic ran down his limbs, igniting his fingertips. His body felt heavier in a good way—stronger. Even his mind felt enhanced, like he'd only been thinking with half of his brain before now. He could reach out with his mind, feel every living thing around him like a dot of light that he could touch and absorb at his leisure.

The brightest light was about twenty paces ahead of him. He was drawn to it in spite of himself because of its odd solidity. This light he couldn't absorb. This light absorbed him. He wanted it to. He let it. He opened up entirely to it, pouring himself into it, merging with it.

Suddenly, there was a sharp gasp and everything changed. Harry's jumper was suddenly squeezing him, holding him prisoner. His breath whooshed out of his lungs and he couldn't pull any back in to replace it. The lights all around him were snuffing out, the darkness closing in. The magic he held seemed to be holding him, like an elastic band suddenly constricting around his limbs and torso. He couldn't breath—couldn't think—couldn't...

* * *

"Wake up, Potter."

Harry's eyelids flickered and light blinked in front of his face. He groaned and put his hand to his pounding head.

"What happened?" he murmured.

Above him, Malfoy straightened up, folding his arms over his chest.

"You were doing well," he said. "And then you let it take over."

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Harry cradled his aching head as he tried to remember.

"No, I didn't let it. Your gasp broke my concentration."

"If that's so," replied Malfoy. "Then you still weren't doing it right. You shouldn't have to work so hard to control it. I hardly even think about the other half of me anymore. It's not another half. We are entirely one. Your mindset isn't right yet."

Harry nodded in defeat. "I agree, but it's not so easy to change the way I think. For instance; I can't simply decide that Voldemort isn't evil—that what he's fighting for is actually reasonable. What I believe is engrained into me; I don't know how to change it."

"Experience," Malfoy said. "Practice. The more you let it into you, the more comfortable you'll become with it. The more time you spend with it, the more you'll see that it doesn't mean you any harm."

"But how can I know it means me no harm when every time I let my guard slip it tries to take me over?"

Malfoy looked at Harry like he'd sprouted two heads. "How can you ask me that? How can you not know?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you listened to it at all, Potter? Or do you just ignore it every time it speaks to you?"

"Speaks to me?"

Malfoy gasped. Then he slammed his hand down on the kitchen table. "No wonder you're having so much trouble! Potter, you imbecile, give it its voice back!"

Harry's face turned wary, embarrassed. "Give it its voice back?" he repeated in a whisper.

Sinking to the ground in front of Harry, Malfoy looked like he was preparing himself for something nasty.

"Shut your eyes," he said and there was no room for argument in his tone. "Now just...just listen."

There was silence for so long that Harry was just about ready to open his eyes and demand to know what Malfoy was doing. And then something touched him.

Not physically. It was more like the brush of a feather on his mind. He pulled away from it instinctively, assuming it was the creature trying to take him over. But it followed and grabbed him forcefully, and before he could fully panic, a wave of magnificent heat rolled down his spine. He shivered and opened up automatically, like the petals of a flower unfolding. The touch spiraled down through his center and Harry contracted around it gently.

_Listen, Potter_ Malfoy said, but by now Harry was expert at distinguishing voice from thought. He gasped, in raptures at the feel of Malfoy in his head. In a deeper part of him he could feel arousal and lust swelling.

Flickering like an ancient reel-to-reel movie projector, memories and thoughts began dancing over Harry's eyelids. He caught vague glimpses of Malfoy as a young boy, playing on a toy broom, having dinner with his parents, visiting the Eiffel Tower, and going away to Hogwarts for the first time. He even caught a bit of himself; the first time he'd met Malfoy in the robe shop, the first time he'd played Quidditch against Malfoy.

But before he could even begin to get his fill of Malfoy's life, feelings flooded through him, distracting him. The pictures became background noise as he tasted this new presence. It had the faint flavor of Malfoy but with something sharper—metallic—dominating the surface. It tasted hostile, but it spoke of overwhelming affection. Harry followed its train of thought obediently and realized that its thoughts all pulsed to the same beat, the same word; _Draco_.

And Harry realized immediately what he was tasting.

This was Malfoy's second half—the Scytale inside Malfoy. This was what it felt for him. This sweeping love that flooded Harry was like nothing he'd ever felt; a dominating desperation to protect, hold, and know. Harry thought this is what a man must feel for his lover; what a mother must feel for her child; what a girl must feel for her first dolly; what an alcoholic must feel for the finest cognac; what a homeless man must feel for a warm bed. So many loves all rolled into one arm that held and caressed the core of Malfoy; that would not let go; that would not allow harm to befall him.

Just feeling its feelings second-hand gave Harry a new appreciation for Malfoy—for Draco. The way his name was sharp yet smooth, like his personality; the way his nose was long but endearing; the way his skin was pale enough to show the pulse of blood in his arms, like a testament to his life; the way his steely eyes reflected his very soul, just waiting to be found and understood.

Harry could feel his cock straining against the unforgiving denim of his pants and his heartbeat racing in his chest. His fingers itched to feel Malfoy's skin, his lips tingled to taste it.

Full of his memories, thoughts, and emotions, Harry leaned in, desperately needing to be full of his cock and tongue too. When his lips touched Draco's, he didn't even notice how unyielding they seemed to be. He moaned in bliss.

"Draco," he whispered, twining his arms around the unresponsive body. "Draco, I think I love you."

Suddenly, Draco went rigid in his arms and the tentacle of thought twining through Harry's mind disappeared like a puff of smoke, fading into the air. Harry gasped, the emptiness in his head was almost physically painful. His eyes flew open just in time to see Malfoy's wand stab toward him and then he was flying backward with a bang.

He hit one of the kitchen chairs and rolled over it, both Harry and chair crashing to the ground. His head cracked against the cold stone floor and his breath was knocked out of him.

"I knew it was a bad idea!" Malfoy was shouting angrily as Harry picked himself up. "Damn it, Potter, why can't you be bloody reasonable!?"

"What're you—"

"You dumb fuck! You don't love me! I don't love you! We're not in a relationship! You're supposed to be using your powers to work on a way to defeat the Dark Lord! That's it—nothing else—that's _it_!"

"But Draco—"

"No, Potter! You're trying to save the wizarding world and I'm trying to save my father. Why else do you think I've accepted this situation so easily? I'm not dumb, Potter! I'm a Slytherin! I could see that the best way to get my father out of Azkaban and out of the reach of the Dark Lord was by using you—your power. I would never have shagged you otherwise!"

Harry was speechless, his mouth hanging open. But Draco wasn't done.

"You and Granger did the research, Potter! You know! Scytale only have to have sex every twenty-four hours _after_ the first time they consummate. Didn't you ever wonder why I came to your dorm that first night? Did you think I just wanted to suck you off—just wanted to taste the great Harry Potter? Did you think I _loved_ you?!"

The desire and thrill Harry had felt had worn off as fast as they'd come. Shock, rejection, and anger were welling in their absence.

"So you...you were just using me?" Harry whispered.

Draco shot him a withering look but said nothing more.

Harry felt horrible. Emptiness was the first disappointment. He'd felt so full. Filled by himself; filled by Draco. He'd felt better than he'd ever felt in his life. There had been so much love—so many happy feelings. He'd felt wanted, like he finally had a place in the world.

But it was all a lie. Maybe there'd been love but it was Draco's love for himself; the Scytale's love for its human host. Maybe Harry's Scytale held that capacity for love too, but Harry couldn't feel it. All he felt was hostility, a threat, an enemy. He felt lonelier than ever.

Tears pricked his eyes but he refused to let Draco see how his betrayal affected him. If he didn't want a relationship with Harry, then Harry wouldn't let him know that he already had one. For now, Harry just needed to find someone who honestly cared about him—who wasn't using him.

Turning without another word, Harry strode across the kitchen toward the stairs.

"Where are you—?"

"Don't you dare!" Harry shouted, spinning back and jabbing his wand threateningly at Draco. He dropped his voice into a dangerous whisper. "Don't you dare pretend like you care where I'm going."

Draco remained silent and his stoic expression revealed nothing, so Harry turned away again and left the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. On the bright, crowded street, fear swept through him. Any one of these people bustling by could be a Death Eater or a spy. He could be dead in seconds.

In a desperate leap that had no hope of working, he spun in place, thinking longingly of the Burrow.

Something in his head fluttered in a panic then settled in with fierce determination. Harry fell into the consuming blackness of apparition and felt more lost than he had on the street. A gentle caress of loving fingers swept over him and he reached for them. Easily, powerfully, they guided him out of the tunnel and into the light. A flock of chickens scattered noisily at his arrival and Harry looked with relief upon the home of the Weasleys.

A door banged open and an amplified voice bellowed at him.

"Who's there? Identify yourself!"

"It's me! Harry!"

"Harry!" squealed a voice and there was a commotion in the doorway.

"Wait, Hermione!" the magically enhanced voice of Charlie Weasley said. "It could be a trap." He refocused on Harry. "What advice did I once give Harry while we were practicing Quidditch in the apple orchard?"

Harry took a moment to recall. "You showed me a more practical way to use my feet on the broomstick so I'd have my hands free to capture the snitch. You called it the Tornado Grip."

There was a moment of silence. Then Harry heard Charlie mutter _Quietus_ to end the spell on his voice and he was rushed by a handful of redheads and one brunette.

"Harry, it's so good to see you!"

"Why are you here?"

"How did you get here?"

"What's going on, Harry?"

Harry was hugged, pounded on the back, had his hair ruffled, and was led into the house. In the kitchen he was joined at the table by Charlie, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny, all waiting anxiously for his explanation.

"Erm..." he began, rapidly editing his story in his head. "Dr—er, Malfoy and I had a bit of a row. I just needed a place to calm down for a while, with people I actually like." That last bit was a lie, but they didn't need to know he had developed rather strong feelings for his former enemy.

"How did you get here, though?" Ron asked, seeming smug about Harry's fight with Malfoy.

"I apparated."

"But you don't know how to apparate!" Ginny said.

"And the wards around the Burrow are very powerful," Hermione added.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know how I did it, but I did."

"Blimey, Harry," George muttered in awe. "Even Fred and I couldn't get through the wards and we've tried with a Trespassing Trinket."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

Fred rummaged around in the collar of his robes, withdrawing a long chain on which dangled a seemingly nondescript ruby. "It allows you to apparate anywhere, even through basic anti-apparition wards. We just developed it—not even on the market yet."

"That's brilliant!" crowed Harry, allowing an easy smile to grace his expression. Already he felt better just by being surrounded by his surrogate family.

Slowly the conversation moved on to lighter topics, beginning with Fred and George's most recent inventions. Harry was relieved that no one asked for details about what had occurred between himself and Draco. Later, he would ask about what was going on in the wizarding world, but for now he was enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, something he didn't think would be possible with Voldemort now controlling the Ministry of Magic.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N:__ "I know everyone thinks Draco is being mean and selfish, but hey, Draco is mean and selfish. It's very realistic and I love it." - unsated. dreamer_

_I couldn't have said it better myself! So to those of you that have demanded I make Draco nicer, please stop. This is my story and I write canon, not fanon. Did any of you write to JK Rowling and tell her that she should have made Draco nicer? I don't think you did._

_That's all._

**Chapter 20 – Battles and Bonding**

"So, what are you going to do about Malfoy, mate?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were circling the Weasley garden in the light of the setting sun.

Harry sighed. "I dunno."

"When was the last time...?" asked Hermione.

"Last night."

Hermione gasped. "Harry, don't you think you're pushing it?"

"No, it was close to midnight last time. I still have five hours."

"Well, I say let him sweat," Ron quipped, admiring the sky smugly.

"It's not a chess game, Ronald!" scolded Hermione. "This is a life or death matter."

"Not yet it's not. Not for another five hours."

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "Well, I think Harry should go to him now and work it out."

"No!" Harry and Ron cried at the same time. They glanced at each other and fell into a fit of snickers. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Suddenly she froze and flung out an arm to stop the boys in their tracks.

"Did you hear that?" she hissed.

"I didn't hear anything," grumbled Ron, but he was reaching for his wand just like the other two.

"Who's there?" Hermione called.

A twig snapped behind them and they spun. Ron fired off a disarming spell wildly.

"OY!" Fred cried, ducking dramatically. "What're you doing?!"

Harry heaved a sigh of relief and let his wand dangle at his side. "We thought we heard someone."

"You did." Fred rolled his eyes. "Me."

"And me!" George said, bounding out the kitchen door. His wand was raised and trained on the trio.

Fred stuck out a hand and held George back. Oddly, his wand appeared in his hand as well.

"I told you to stay hidden, you great lump!" he hissed angrily.

Harry shot a confused look at Hermione who looked back at him with worry. Ron was laughing again.

"Trying to pull a prank on us? Well done," he said.

"No prank, _little bro_," George sneered and then twisted his wand down through the air.

A jet of purple light shot out and hit Ron in the chest. As if in slow motion, his face widened with shock and he crumpled to the ground and fell still.

Three things happened simultaneously.

Fred shouted "NOW", George fired another violent spell at Hermione, and Ginny and Bill spilled out of the Burrow, wands raised and eyes glinting angrily.

With a flick, Hermione shielded herself from the spell and then dropped to her knees to dodge another. Harry could watch no more of her fight as he was caught up in his own with Fred and Ginny.

"_Confringo!_" Fred bellowed as Harry whipped up a shield between himself and Ginny.

A blaze of fire singed a hole in the shoulder of Harry's shirt and the garden fence behind him burst into flames.

"_Cruccio!_" screeched Ginny. Harry's shield shattered and she repeated the curse. Harry was forced to dive to the side and roll awkwardly to avoid Fred's next spell.

"Ginny!" Harry gasped as he jumped up and conjured another shield. "What's gotten into you?"

She destroyed his shield with a _Reducto_ and a maniacal laugh that faded instantly with the creation of yet another ward against her.

"Fight back, Potter!" she screamed as she fired off a round of curses. Fred danced behind her, trying to find an opening. "Don't cower behind your shields, baby Potty!"

Realization flooded Harry and he hesitated a fraction of a second too long. A blow hit him hard in the stomach and he was thrown off his feet, flying through the air and slamming into the inflamed garden wall. He could hear the mad laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange coming from Ginny's mouth as he collapsed into a heap.

Flames licked up his body, igniting warmth in his blood, which had run cold for fear of what had happened to the real Weasleys. He could feel his clothes shriveling and crumbling to ash as he caught his breath. When he rose from the fire, charred clothing hanging in scraps from his body, Bellatrix gasped.

"No!" she shrieked. "_Confringo! Incendio! CRUCCIO!_"

Fire joined fire and Harry ducked to avoid the Cruciatus. And then there was a voice shouting from the distance.

"Potter!" It was familiar. "HARRY!"

Bellatrix spun and shot a _Stupefy _away. The imposter Fred, still on her heels, fell to the ground and Bellatrix cursed. The firelight glinted off pale hair before the encroaching figure was hidden in a haze of incoming spells. They rained down on Bellatrix, forcing her into the acrobatics she'd been putting Harry through. Bellatrix forced a killing curse through the torrent, the green leaving a blinding streak on Harry's retinas.

Laughter.

"Come on, Aunt Bella! Is that all you've got?!" Draco emerged from the haze, grinning as madly as his aunt and twisting his wand into complicated contortions. And Harry's heart exploded.

Fear for his safety; adoration for his protection; love for the mere sight of him. How could Harry ever have _thought_ he was falling for him when it was so obvious—so blinding.

A blood-curdling scream rent the air and Harry spun, blood draining from his face, just in time to see Hermione hit the side of the Burrow and drop into an unmoving pile. The fake Bill towered over her triumphantly, his comrade fallen already.

"_STUPEFY!_" Harry bellowed angrily and his spell landed with such force that his target was lifted off his feet.

"_Cruccio!_" Bellatrix called from behind him and Draco's anguished cries followed Hermione's, echoing and rebounding over and over as Bellatrix laughed over his writhing body.

Without warning, the night turned bloody and Harry changed.

His body grew long, lean and smooth, stretching on for miles, curling into a deadly spiral. His three tails flicked warningly as he rose higher and higher above the scene. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air; blood, sweat, fire, ash, magic. Magic rolled through him and around him and set his heart hammering. But, it beat against a steel wall Harry didn't recognize and he reached out to feel it.

Fury and bloodlust washed through him, boiling his blood and magic alike. He stretched in its wake, reaching for more, desiring more. And new feelings came; a fierce protectiveness, a painful longing, an overpowering love. He felt the prick of tears, but they wouldn't fall in this body. He took a deep breath, but it came out in a frightening hiss. And then he let go of something he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

_Yesssssss. _

You're free, Harry replied.

_Yessss._ Relief this time, and gratitude.

Save me, Harry pleaded. Save Draco.

_Anything._ Devotion—affection. _For you. Anything._

Together, they looked down. Below them Draco had become still, his eyes closed. Bellatrix had her wand trained up at them, but her expression was shocked and hesitant. They tasted the slow pulse of fear in her blood and they rejoiced. Excitement.

Bellatrix seemed to find her sense. With a strangled cry, she drew her wand in an angry slash.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" she screamed and the green killing curse came at them in sharp contrast to the red night. They tasted it like acid and it burned their senses unpleasantly. They opened their mouth, their fangs stretching toward the ground, and swallowed the light.

It went through them from jaw to tails and burned their insides. They could feel their organs shriveling and dying as the curse turned and came back. With a pained hiss they opened again and it leaked out over their tongue and fangs and dribbled down their neck and body in a biting green liquid thicker than mud.

Hissing and writhing, they willed their magic forward, pushing it through them, letting it follow the path of damage. It heated them like liquid fire, leaking downward and touching everything with healing fingers. It knitted them up until they were whole again and they stretched with renewed strength. Bellatrix looked upon them with horror.

_What are you?_ she whispered in her head. They weaved backward and she dropped to her knees. _Forgive me my Lord. I have failed you._

They smiled, baring their fangs. And then they lunged.

Even if she had tried, she could not have escaped their speed. Even if she had tried, she could not have escaped their jaw. They left half of her, gruesomely bloody, their venom tearing her up from the inside out. The other half of her was bitter on their tongue and they gloried in the flavor.

_Harry._

Suddenly, Harry was short again. He had appendages, which were oddly uncomfortable in the moment it took him to readjust. His vision returned to normal, everything its natural hue. But some things did not change. Magic still pulsed through him, ready to become whatever he willed—do whatever he asked. And the steel wall had melted and leaked directly into his heart, where it beat with him and in him and as him.

_We are one, _hissed a voice in his head and its tone was exalting.

There was a movement to his right and Harry remembered why he'd changed. He ran to Draco's side and dropped down next to him. Gently, he scooped Draco's head into his palm and put a hand over his heart.

"Draco," he whispered.

Draco groaned and his eyelashes flickered. "You owe me, Potter. I saved your life."

The breath whooshed out of Harry and a strangled laugh escaped him. Without hesitation, he leaned down and captured Draco's lips in an emotional kiss. And Draco bit him. He pulled back and massaged his lip with his tongue.

"What've I told you about the mushy stuff?" Draco grunted.

* * *

Harry trailed Madam Pomfrey like a shadow as she made her rounds through the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The long table had been replaced with six beds, the occupants of which were all unconscious.

The four Weasleys whose identities had been stolen were under the influence of the Draught of Living Death. A large cauldron was hanging over the fireplace in the corner where Mrs. Weasley was currently brewing the antidote. The fear for them was that they might not be served the antidote before it was too late. One could only survive the Draught of Living Death for thirty days and the antidote took almost as long to brew. But Mrs. Weasley was confident in her potions skills.

Ron's case was a little more worrying. As of yet, they had not figured out what spell the Death Eater had used on him. The only relief was Madame Pomfrey's assurance that he was stable for the moment and therefore his condition was not worsening.

Hermione was under induced unconsciousness. She had woken around the time Order members had begun answering Harry's Patronus and were apparating friendly bodies to the safety of Grimmauld Place and enemy bodies to the dungeons of Hogwarts. But, she had been in so much pain that Madame Pomfrey took pity on her and gave her a sleeping potion.

Draco was up in his bedroom, sleeping off Bellatrix's Cruciatus with the aid of a pain-dulling potion. Feeling restless, confused, and conflicted, Harry remained resolutely away from him until he had his strength back and could potentially stand another row, which Harry felt was surely inevitable. Unfortunately, the night was approaching morning and Harry feared he would have to fuck Draco before he could talk to him, something he didn't particularly want to do.

With a defeated sigh, Harry fell into a chair and put his face in his hands. He was having trouble focusing on his own thoughts with the buzz of foreign thoughts in his head.

Since he had become one with the Scytale part of him, he had allowed his mental wall to crumble completely. Now Mrs. Weasley swamped him with potion instructions. Madame Pomfrey kept his mind thick with possibilities about how to help her six patients. In the other room, he could faintly hear Mr. Weasley's worry for his children and Tonks's weariness sweeping her into a colorful, confusing dream world.

"Harry." A gentle hand touched his shoulder and Harry jerked upright, surprised at being caught off guard.

"Professor!" Of all the Order members that had arrived to help, Dumbledore had not been one of them.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I think we need to talk. Where is Mr. Malfoy?"

"He's in his room," said Harry distractedly.

There was something faintly uncomfortable about being in Dumbledore's presence; almost like Dumbledore gave him a headache. His powerful mental barrier created an unwelcome bubble of silence in a noisy room. It irritated Harry like a sickle in a pile of knuts. He itched to remove it, but he resisted. There was too much going on already without the added thoughts of Dumbledore.

"If you'd be so kind, I'd like you both to meet me in the library."

Harry nodded hesitantly and rose from his seat, glad to leave Dumbledore for a moment.

When he was outside Draco's door he paused, feeling inside with his mind, reaching for what he still couldn't touch. Like Draco had said, he couldn't get in unless Draco let him in. That hadn't changed, even with his new acceptance of his creature inheritance.

And yet Draco's mental silence wasn't a burden like Dumbledore's was. It was comfortable. Where Dumbledore was a fog, blinding him, Draco was a soft light, caressing him and lighting his way.

"Come in, Potter," Draco called from the bedroom. Harry smiled slightly, wondering exactly what Draco was feeling from him right now, and pushed the door open. The room was dark, but Harry could make out the shape of Draco sitting up in bed.

"Dumbledore wants to talk to us in the—"

"I want you," Malfoy rasped.

Harry paused. "Erm...sorry?"

"I want you," he repeated. "I need you. Harry."

He said Harry's name with pained desperation and Harry frantically checked his watch. He still had over an hour. He looked up with confusion.

"Draco?"

Draco writhed beneath the bed sheets and as Harry's eyes adjusted, he could see the impressive tent Draco was pitching. Harry crossed the room and used his hand to feel Draco's forehead. He was worried. They still had plenty of time before Draco could possibly be in pain.

The moment his hand touched Draco, he moaned and tilted his head up until his teeth caught the skin of Harry's palm. Harry could feel Draco's tongue lapping at his skin and his cock twitched.

"Yesss," Draco hissed, taking one of Harry's fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. With his hands he began undoing Harry's trousers.

Quickly, Draco got his hands around Harry and pumped him until he was fully erect and his knees were quaking. Reading his feelings, Draco used his hands to guide Harry onto the bed and on his knees, straddling Draco's legs. When his cock was even with Draco's mouth, Draco sucked him in, going to work immediately.

"Draco," Harry whispered, tilting his head back in ecstasy as he knotted his fingers into Draco's silky hair.

Draco smoothed his hands down Harry's arse. One came to his balls, fondling them teasingly. The other moved further down until he found his own cock, pumping it in time with his mouth on Harry.

Soon Harry's vision was blurring, his abdomen was tightening, and he exploded with a moan into Draco's mouth. Beneath him, he felt Draco's answering release dampening the sheets between his legs. Draco sucked him dry then fell back with his eyes closed, panting.

Harry caressed his cheek and neck, running a thumb over his parted lips. His eyelashes flickered and he gazed at Harry beneath heavy eyelids.

"What happened?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco shrugged. "Same as last time."

"But why so early? We still had time."

"It doesn't work like clockwork, Potter," Draco said, not unkindly. "It seems to depend a lot on how much time we spend together between shags."

Harry considered this. It added up. "So if we're with each other all day long..."

"We could probably last more than twenty-four hours," Draco finished, nodding.

Harry lapsed into silence, continuing with his gentle caresses while his emotions conflicted inside him. On the one hand, he loved Draco. That much was blindingly clear to him now. On the other, Draco in no way cared about him. Draco was _using _him. And yet, Harry could understand Draco's situation. His father was in Azkaban and even if he somehow got out, he would be at the mercy of a master currently very angry with him. Harry could understand Draco's willingness to do anything to protect his father.

"I love you," Harry said, not entirely sure what he meant by it. He wouldn't forgive Draco just because he understood his reasoning. But he couldn't deny his own feelings either.

Draco's face softened. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

Harry's face stretched in wonder. "For what?"

"For not telling you the truth about why I was with you. And for...not loving you."

Harry's eyes widened. It took him a long time to work his way through the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts that statement brought with it. When he finally did, a grin broke out over his face and he threw his arms around Draco, hugging him enthusiastically.

"Potter!" Draco snapped, his voice muffled by Harry's shoulder. "Gerroff me! Didn't you hear me? I _don't_ love you!"

Harry laughed and released Draco, leaning back to look at him again. "I heard you."

Draco raised his eyebrows in confusion. "You don't want me to love you?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not it. It's just that...that's enough—for now."

"What's enough?" demanded Draco.

Harry beamed. "That you feel bad for not loving me."

"That's not—That's...What I—Potter, you...you bloody Gryffindor!"

Laughing again, Harry rolled off the bed and did up his pants. He'd never heard Draco stutter so badly before. He found it oddly endearing.

"Get up, you bloody Slytherin," Harry teased. "Dumbledore wants to talk to us in the library."

Draco climbed out of bed, snatching his dressing robe from a chair and leading the way out of the room, muttering something about stupid misinterpretations. With a giddy stride, Harry followed him out.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: I woke up this morning to a VERY full inbox. Over 40 reviews for the last chapter alone! And all of them very supportive. Thank you everyone--I'm tremendously grateful (: _

_Thank you also to Yami Bakura and Nette for your help with getting my creative juices flowing for this chapter. And of course thanks to Sarah, my beta. _

**Chapter 21 – The Voice of Wisdom**

Draco looked different somehow as he sat before Dumbledore. It took Harry a moment of secret speculation out of the corner of his eye before he realized he didn't look different at all—he looked _the same_. The same as he'd looked before; before Grimmauld Place and Death Eater attacks and Scytale. He looked like the same old Draco Malfoy, his nose wrinkled in contempt, his chin raised in superiority, and his veiled grey eyes pegged on Dumbledore as he paced before him.

"Tell me again how you got through the wards please, Draco," asked Dumbledore.

Already Harry had explained exactly what happened to him at the Burrow. Already Draco had given his side of the story; how he'd apparated the moment he read the distress in Harry's emotions, his instinct guiding him to the Burrow. Already he described being stuck just beyond the wards, listening as the duels went on just out of his reach, longing to get inside, _needing_ to help Harry.

"I've told you," Draco replied irritably. "I don't know. One moment I had my hands against the invisible wards, willing them away, and the next moment they were away. Scytale magic—I wanted to protect my mate and my magic enabled that."

Harry's heart thudded irregularly and Draco shot a brief smirk at him. A spiral of conflicting emotions swirled through him as Dumbledore's eyes slid to him.

"And is this how you would explain the magic you preformed, Harry?"

Harry nodded wordlessly.

"Then how do we explain the magic the Death Eaters preformed..." mused Dumbledore.

Harry's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "The Death Eaters got through the wards before me, Potter—before I took the wards down. Somehow they got in and took over the Burrow, maybe even before you arrived—"

"No," Harry and Dumbledore said together. Harry shut his mouth and listened to Dumbledore.

"If they were there before Harry they would have attacked him upon his arrival."

Harry nodded in agreement. "And besides, I would have realized something was wrong with them earlier."

"But that only makes things worse," Draco said.

"How so?"

"Because now not only have they unexplainably breached the wards, but they've also unexplainably timed it just right with your arrival. Which leaves only one explanation..."

Harry's mouth fell open but before he could ask Dumbledore answered.

"We have a traitor in our midst."

The silence stretched over the three like a blanket falling over the Earth. Harry was mentally running through a list of the people in the Order. The Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks, Moody, Kingsley, the Hogwarts professors. He could think of no one of whom he might be suspicious. Even those he was less familiar with—Emmeline Vance, Dedalus Diggle, Mundungus Fletcher and the rest—he still trusted explicitly, though mostly because Dumbledore did.

And then another name ran through his head and a familiar voice speaking words he'd heard only yesterday.

_I'm a Slytherin! ...Using you—your power. I would never have shagged you otherwise!_

An iron fist closed around Harry's heart and he could identify it as the indignation of the snake inside him. It tried to reject his initial suspicion of Draco and he wished he could let it but to what ends? Condemn one of the Order—one of his friends? He could just as easily carve out his own heart and hand it to Voldemort. What pledge had Draco ever made to the Order—to the Order's cause even? In fact, if his father had never displeased Voldemort, Draco might even now have a skull and snake tattoo to accompany his Scitalis.

Beside him Draco sighed and immediately, before he could stop himself, Harry flinched away from him. Then Dumbledore spoke to soothe the tense moment.

"I fear I must ask more of you, Harry."

Trying to relax his shoulders, Harry looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I've had you practice with your new powers and now I will have you execute them. It is imperative that we find the traitor, whether they be cursed or conspirator."

Comprehension came to him. "You want me to spy on the Orders' minds?"

"I do." Dumbledore's face was a mask of grief. "If you'll agree, I'll call an emergency meeting for this afternoon."

"But...but there must be some other way, sir," Harry said desperately. "The Death Eaters! The one's we caught—what about them? Can't they be questioned?"

Dumbledore sighed. "We could...if they were still our prisoners."

"What do you mean?"

"With Hogwarts no longer being used as a school, it is not the fortress it once was. Voldemort sent more Death Eaters on a rescue mission. Sturgis Podmore was guarding them at the time; he's at St. Mungo's now. He's lucky to be alive."

As he absorbed this news Harry massaged his temples, trying to push away his oncoming headache. Dumbledore's presence itself was a nuisance to Harry's brain because of his powerful mental barrier; his request was helping nothing. And yet how could Harry refuse? It was the first time he could ever really contribute to the Order. The irony was it felt more like a betrayal.

Harry nodded briskly and Dumbledore swept across the room silently. At the door he turned back. "I'll have them gathered here by noon. That gives you approximately twelve hours to rest up and prepare." Then he was gone.

Draco rose calmly and made to follow but Harry's fingers snagged the back of his robes.

"Draco," he whispered. "We need to talk."

"Now is not the best time, Potter. I need more sleep and you need more practice if you're going to break into a group of minds trained to—why are you shaking your head?"

"Why did you come to the Burrow to rescue me, Draco?"

Draco folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "What do you want from me, Potter? I won't give you a confession of love."

Harry ignored this. "How far would you go to save your father?"

"Obviously far enough to duel and be tortured by a Death Eater." Draco sounded bored and Harry knew he would have to be straightforward to get the information he wanted.

"Did you betray my location to Voldemort, Draco?"

For just a second, Draco's mask cracked and shock shined through. Then it was gone, replaced by an acidic scowl.

"I told you I took the wards down after the Death Eaters were in," he said softly—warningly.

"And Slytherins never lie," retorted Harry, just as gently.

Draco scoffed angrily. "Use your brain, Potter! Yes, I lied to you about why I was with you. But I did it so that I could help you become more powerful. And I wanted you more powerful so you could defeat the Dark Lord. Now, how would I be helping my plan at all if I sent Death Eaters after you to have you killed?!"

Draco must really think Harry was stupid if he thought Harry hadn't already considered this.

"For all I know," Harry snapped. "You could be lying about wanting to save your father!"

Draco's face went suddenly blank. A storm seemed to be swirling in his grey eyes, building and building until Harry actually leaned back, afraid of the imminent explosion. But Draco's next words were a threatening hiss.

"There is _nothing_more important to me than my family; not you—not Voldemort—not even my own safety and happiness. I will see my family reunited some day. I will see my father out of Azkaban, my mother free of her demons, and our home scoured of Death Eaters. And if you refuse to help me, if you can't trust me, then I'll leave now and find a new way to produce the results I want. Just say the word, Potter, and I'm gone."

"You can't leave," Harry reminded him. "We don't know what will happen if we're not together."

Draco turned away and Harry bemoaned the loss of his facial expressions, hard as they were to read. "I'll take my chances," was all he said.

For a long time, Harry remained silent, basking in his thoughts. A broken sigh escaped his lips unbidden. Draco turned back to him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What?" he asked.

Harry dropped his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what I can do. You and Dumbledore keep telling me I need to practice with my powers. You keep saying that you're waiting for me to defeat Voldemort. But I don't know how! Why does everyone seem to think I have this great secret plan that I'm just waiting for the perfect moment to execute?"

Draco seemed to relax slightly, relieved that the focus was off him. "Just look at what you did to Bellatrix, Potter. What more do you need to know?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "So everyone expects me to walk up to Voldemort, transform into a great snake, and bite his head off?"

"That might work," said Draco. "Or you could try a more subtle approach."

Harry raised an eyebrow in question.

"Why do you think we want you to practice with your mind, Potter? We want you to try to break into Voldemort's head. You could be greater than a thousand spies."

Harry's eyes widened as understanding flooded him. Of course; it was so simple! Find his way into Voldemort's head and he could have the answers to all his questions. A memory from what felt like ages ago came to him.

_It's an obscure branch of magic he used, combining emotions to create solid, animate things. _

_Voldemort does have a few insights we don't have. _

_We believe he might be able to sense the changes inside of himself._

"I want to try now," Harry said suddenly.

To his immense displeasure, Draco actually laughed. "Patience, Potter, we'll get there. The Dark Lord is bound to have more than a few protections on his mind. Let's settle with the Order for now. It'll be good practice."

"But all the answers we've been looking for!" Harry argued. "Everything we need to know about him! It's all there in his head and I could have access to it! Why have we even waited this long?! That's all I should be focusing on—all I should be thinking about!"

Draco was shaking his head. "You don't understand, Potter—"

"No, _you _don't understand!" shouted Harry, rising from his seat. "Voldemort could be immortal! He could be all powerful! He used special magic when he was resurrected—magic based in emotions! And all this time I could have been reading his emotions instead of bathing in my own denial and self-loathing!"

Again Draco laughed. Harry's fingers itched with the urge to lunge at him, to shut him up.

"It's a pleasure to hear you admit how much of an idiot you've been. Maybe now you'll realize how serious it is that you practice. Maybe now you'll start listening to me, for a change."

"I do realize how serious it is! It's so serious that I should start trying now—WHY ARE YOU BLOODY LAUGHING?!"

"Because you're being an arse, Potter!" Draco suddenly shouted back, the laughter draining out of his face. "Think! I know your brain works, insignificant as it might seem to you. The Dark Lord is the most evil wizard in the world! You've already admitted he's used unpopular magic—magic no one truly understands. If you just dive into his head, immature as you are, you could be hurt—you could be killed, Potter! Hearing the Dark Lord's mind is not a joke. There's a reason no one's tried before."

Harry's pride stung from the shots Draco took at his intelligence. He wanted to retort that he wasn't immature—that he didn't think any of this was a joke—that _Draco _was the one who thought his brain insignificant, not Harry. Instead he tried to _prove_ his maturity. He fell silent. He thought. He considered. And he suddenly realized that Draco was smart. More than smart—Draco was _wise._

How could Harry not have seen it before? How many times had Draco given him advice since they'd grown closer? How many times had he been right? Standing next to him, it was a wonder anyone could consider Harry mightier than Draco. Harry was ruled entirely by his ever-changing emotions. He was fickle as the seas and Draco was sturdy as a mountain. And that was one of the many reasons Harry loved him.

"Okay," Harry said softly. No anger or bitterness remained in his voice. "I'm ready to listen."

"What?" Draco asked, his expression dumbfounded.

"Tell me what to do," said Harry simply.

For a long minute Draco considered him. His eyes roved up and down Harry's body, explored his face deeply, and despite himself, Harry became aroused. A smirk tugged at the corner of Draco's mouth and then slowly transformed into a smile.

Taking a step forward, Draco lifted his hand and laid it over the side of Harry's face, covering his silvery mark. His eyes grew deep and complex and fell closed and an excruciating warmth began in the center of his palm and seeped outward. The muscles across Harry's abdomen tightened and his eyes closed too.

"What are you doing?" he breathed.

"I promised." Draco's voice was quiet—distracted. "When you accepted your fate..."

The warmth in his palm tingled across Harry's forehead and down his cheek as realization came to him. His hand flew up and caught Draco's wrist, tugging it away from his face reluctantly. The warmth left him and he sighed in the loss of it but he would not surrender to his desire.

Draco's free hand touched his other cheek. His thumb swept a graceful arch beneath his lashes. Harry opened his eyes to see Draco gazing at him curiously.

"I was going to remove your mark, Potter. It's what you want."

Harry shook his head and released Draco's wrist. "I want other things now."

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco asked gently.

"I want to learn to control my powers," Harry listed. "I want to get into Voldemort's mind. I want to learn how to defeat him and then I want to defeat him." Harry paused. "And I want..."

"What?"

"I want you..."

Draco's eyes softened and butterflies swarmed Harry's belly as he enjoyed the look he was given. After a drawn-out silence, Draco's eyes spoke surrender and he opened his mouth.

"You can have me," he relented and his words made Harry's cock twitch and his Scytale instincts purr and coil to spring. But Harry shook his head again.

"I can only have parts of you."

He expected Draco to deny that, to say Harry could have it all—have whatever he wanted. He expected Draco to lie. But then...

"I'm sorry," whispered Draco. "I don't know how to give you more. When I said I was using you it was the truth and I can't change that. I'd do anything to save my family, Potter."

"I understand that now," said Harry. "I don't hold that against you. I just wish we could work together, instead of me working for you."

"What would you have me do, Potter?"

Harry thought about it. If he could have his way, he would have Draco love him back. But those feelings could not be forced from anyone, least of all someone as stubborn as Draco. So he went for the simplest thing he could request.

"Call me Harry," he asked—almost begged. It was silly and he felt sure Draco would refuse. The prolonged silence spoke for itself.

Then Draco leaned forward and his lips touched Harry's temple, just over his mark.

"Harry," he breathed and his lips brushed Harry's skin, sending heat flaming down through his body.

With soft but urgent movements he guided Draco to a couch and laid him across it. Patiently, slowly, he undressed Draco, reveling in each new inch of revealed milky flesh.

"Harry," Draco hissed again as fingers grazed his cock.

It was the first time Harry could remember him being so compliant and passive. It was the first time he said Harry's name for any reason other than to get what he wanted. It was also the first time they were enjoying each others bodies simply for the pleasure and not the duty. Harry was heady with firsts and he wanted more.

"Show me the truth," he asked as he removed his own clothing and crouched between Draco's legs.

Draco's eyes, which had been following Harry's hands lustfully, darted to his face. "Don't you trust me?"

Harry let his honesty and loyalty flood through his veins as he locked his eyes on Draco's.

"Yes."

With a fluttering of lashes, Draco's eyes fell closed. And then the barrier on his mind fell open.

A ragged gasp ripped through Harry's lips as new emotions crashed into his mind, tearing through him, filling him to overflowing.

There was love at the front, a frothing crest on the rich wave. Harry could feel it and absorb it and bask in it but he knew he could not own it. Draco put it there in hopes that it would please Harry but it was not for Harry; it was for Draco's parents. So Harry let it wash over him and away, deciding to wait for the love that could be his entirely. He dipped further into the wave, hungry for more.

Lust, desire and arousal were next, most dominating in this moment. They squeezed Harry when the love had caressed him. They were urgent and powerful and they made Harry's cock ache. He bowed under their weight and took Draco's nipple into his mouth. The feelings fluttered around him and made cracks for more feelings to slip through.

Cunning and intelligence came next like a sun—a burning ball of fire, warming and illuminating all they touched. A shadow of pain and loneliness slipped in behind, almost unnoticeable in the light of the good feelings. Harry made a special place for the dark in his heart, loving Draco's flaws as easily as he loved his other attributes.

More came, filling, fluttering, falling—making room for even more. It was a continuous stream, a never-ending circle. The feelings bit into Harry, through Harry, and out of Harry, back to Draco. Then they repeated the cycle, coming back altered in the second they were gone, changed to fit the new feelings Draco had in the next moment.

Harry tried to understand them, to match the mental alterations with the physical actions that changed Draco. But he couldn't find the link. He moved his mouth down Draco's abdomen in a hot chain of kisses, expecting the flow of Draco's thoughts to grow more aroused. But instead they grew calmer, quieter. He sucked Draco's erection hastily into his mouth, frustratingly trying to urge a more lustful response from his emotions. But they circled back in with a soothing touch, petting at his frustration with soft fingers even as hard fingers gripped his hair tightly.

And then Harry realized what changed them. It was not his tongue and lips and hands. It was his feelings and emotions and thoughts. What Harry had forgotten was that while he was feeling Draco, Draco was feeling him. Draco felt Harry's initial infatuation, then contemplation, then irritation. And as he felt this, his mental flavor changed in response to Harry's.

It was like a conversation with no words, with no physical limitations. They felt instantly and responded instantly, back and forth, faster and faster, no secrets, no hidden reactions. They talked like an ocean, coming and going, smooth and rough, again and again. And Harry let the waves sweep him away.

He had Draco in his mouth, in his hands, in his head. He opened his eyes to have Draco in his vision as well. His eyes swept from top to bottom as he bobbed his head over Draco's cock.

Draco's eyes were screwed shut, one of his hands had released Harry's hair and clutched repeatedly at his own. His teeth worried his lip mercilessly and his body was tensed into hard angles and lines. If Harry couldn't feel him and understand him, he would think Draco was in immense pain.

He let his eyes travel down, following the lines of his muscles, the trail of pale hair that started at his navel. Beneath the hair was a thin line of swirling silver. He followed that next, outward and away, curling and twisting. A tail, a body, a head, a tongue, flicking out to taste the salty skin of Draco's hip.

Entranced by the sensuality of it, the churning of the silver, the gyration of Draco's muscles beneath it, Harry lifted his head and spoke sweet words to it.

"OH!" Draco cried suddenly. His hips bucked once and he arched off the couch, exploding over his stomach and chest.

"Ahhhh," he moaned brokenly, his voice drifting off into a ragged sigh. He slumped into the couch and Harry watched in fascination as every muscle relaxed and he went limp. His face was smooth and calm as an angel and Harry leaned up to kiss him softly on the lips.

"That," Draco panted. "Was bloody amazing."

Harry smiled. "I'm not even sure what I did."

Widened grey eyes met his. "You spoke in Parsletongue," he said, the tone of his thoughts laced with reverence.

"Did I?" Harry chuckled. He hadn't even realized he'd done it.

"What did you say?" Draco asked.

"Nothing of consequence." Harry sat back so he could press a kiss into the mark on Draco's hip. Draco's spent cock stirred and Harry smiled against his skin. "I simply told it how beautiful it is and how hot it makes me."

He looked up beneath his lashes to see that Draco's eyes had clouded with the same heat that left a burning trail through Harry's head. In one quick movement, Draco lunged and pinned Harry back against the couch, his lips latching roughly over Harry's mouth.

When he dragged his tongue sensually down Harry's neck and over his collarbone Harry laughed.

"I thought you wanted to sleep," he panted.

"Later," Draco growled and took Harry possessively into his mouth.


	22. Chapter 22

_IMPORTANT: Hey everyone, sorry to do this to you but there's going to be a week-long hiatus on Serpent Tales. My sister is in town and she keeps me pretty busy so I'm not going to have much time to write. Things'll start back up again roughly around Sunday, July 26th._

_In other news: not a lot of dialogue in this chapter...It's kind of weird xD Hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks to my beta Sarah, as always. You rock :)_

**Chapter 22 – A Curse**

Much later that day the Order of the Phoenix sat in a circle of armchairs at the center of the library in an uncharacteristic silence. It was common for individual conversations to be held quietly before Dumbledore officially called the meeting to order. This time there were too many differences. Six bodies still lay unconscious two floors below. Death Eaters had somehow penetrated a strongly warded safe zone. And oddest of all, one new person permeated their familiar circle.

Harry had offered to remain hidden; assuring Dumbledore that he would be able to breach the minds of the Order despite a few walls separating them. Dumbledore had insisted on him being present at the meeting anyway. He had even gone so far as to invite Draco to the meeting, which Harry secretly thought was a good way to alienate the entire Order. But Draco had graciously refused with the excuse that he was still aching and could use a few more hours of sleep.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Dumbledore said, beginning the meeting. "Let us get straight to the point. We'll give reports first and move onto planning from there. Severus, would you like to begin?"

Sitting directly to Dumbledore's right was Snape, his face hidden in the shadow of a looming bookshelf, his beetle black eyes glinting with the light of the candles floating above. He made no movement but his eyes flicked to Harry, sitting across the circle between Hagrid and Mr. Weasley.

"I believe, Dumbledore, that you should explain Potter's presence before we continue; for those of us who are now...out of the loop."

"Ah Severus," replied Dumbledore. "This time there is no loop. Harry is here on my request because I believe it would benefit us all if he knew more about what Voldemort and his Death Eaters are up to. If you refuse to participate because of his involvement you may leave now and consult with me later—though I assure you I will relay your report back to him after you give it to me."

Harry didn't have to see Snape's face to know it soured in that moment. He said no more on the topic, however, but cleared his throat and began his report.

"The Dark Lord is continuing his work at the Ministry. He is replacing the employees that have fled with those who remain loyal to him. He is creating new laws and creating a newspaper that will be beneficial to his cause. He is also preparing Auror raids to every magical home in Great Britain—"

"Auror raids?!" Tonks interrupted. "He has no Aurors!"

Snape's silky voice was full of distain. "He has put his best Death Eaters up to the task," was all he said in reply before continuing. "I will have the list of homes and when they will be hit in a fortnight..."

The report continued with arrests Voldemort had made, trials he had held, and plans he had for starting a new school focusing more on the Dark Arts than even Durmstrang. As fascinating as Harry found it all, he had a job to do.

Feeling inside himself, he tried to identify the lines of Scytale and the lines of human. They were becoming fainter and fainter every moment. Strangely, this pleased him. A hum vibrated silently through his chest. He followed the vibrations into his heart where they were pumped out into his bloodstream which flowed through his every limb which lead up to his head which swam with heat and power. It beat like the wings of a miniature phoenix and he scooped it up, petted it, released it.

And it flew.

It flew right through the circle, invisible to everyone, silent as a mouse, and right into Snape's open mouth.

When it hit Snape's mental barrier it slowed almost to a stopping point, but Harry flexed his muscles and a wave of magic rolled over him. The bird's wings beat faster and it moved forward again, advancing slowly as if it had to fight its way through molasses.

Harry could feel the strength around it, closing in on it, trying to squish it. He expected resistance. Snape kept his memories from Voldemort himself. But nothing was strong enough to stop Harry and just at that moment, he penetrated the elusive mind of Severus Snape.

Thoughts poured into him; slippery, greasy, poisonous. Harry didn't like to hear them, didn't like to think them. They had a bitter taste that came from years of secrets and lies. They said the same things that came out of Snape's mouth but they rang with emotions that were never betrayed by his voice.

When he thought of Dumbledore there was grudging awe, fierce loyalty, and a resentful fear. When he mentioned Voldemort he felt raging hatred, slimy disgust, and a resentful fear. The Order; weak hope, smooth distrust, and a resentful fear. His mission; fiery determination, vague boredom, and a resentful fear.

Harry closed his eyes in the illuminating revelation. His hands scrubbed at his face in vain. His insides bubbled in reaction to the burrowed emotions. The phoenix darted beyond the wall to take a respite. This strong, independent, dark man was entirely ruled by fear. Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that. He didn't want to reevaluate his opinion of Snape.

So he didn't. Allowing the phoenix back inside, he dug deeper, harder, foregoing the base emotions for something more. He felt many things—things he that didn't surprise him, things that did, things he wished he could give back, and things he stole greedily. But there were things missing. Secrets: Snape had none from Dumbledore, Harry could see this in the nakedness Snape felt when he looked upon the great wizard. Disloyalty: in the Order he was firm believer, even if he had little faith that the Order could somehow beat the Death Eaters. Hatred: only for Voldemort did he harbor this sickest of emotions and he held it in such huge amounts that Harry dug deeper, curious in spite of himself.

The molasses was thicker here. The phoenix's wings slowed by half. Harry released his power into it, willing it onward.

Green flashed before him, then red, rich as freshly polished amber. It swayed like a field of wildflowers beneath a serene wind. A woman's smile lit up the world and then Harry's concentration broke. The phoenix popped out of existence as Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Severus," he said. "Minerva, how have you, Filius, and Molly been coming on your task?"

"Excellent," replied McGonagall diplomatically. "We have set up two small safe zones for now at Godric's Hollow and Ottery St. Catchpole. Families are congregating there temporarily while we work to secure the dungeons of Hogwarts with every protection we can give them."

"Why the dungeons?" Hagrid asked, sounding displeased.

"The dungeons are underground," replied Mrs. Weasley. "Which makes them naturally safer than any other part of Hogwarts."

"And Hogwarts is far too big to secure fully," added Flitwick. "Better to have stronger protections around a smaller section."

Harry shook himself mentally and wasted no more time. This time instead of sending out a scout he opened up his head and absorbed the entire room. Lights blinked on behind his eyelids, some dimmer than others. He realized quickly that the dim ones would take some prying to get into. He began with the brightest light, focusing on it and allowing its luminescence to fill his head.

_—Wish Molly'd made summat to eat..._

On first instinct Harry withdrew from the light. Then, with bitter resignation, he dove back in. No matter how much he trusted Hagrid and was unwilling to disturb his privacy, he had a duty to examine _all_ the minds in the room.

It didn't matter. Within thirty seconds of delving through his emotions Harry could find nothing but purity. Hagrid was all that he acted and said. He was the most real person Harry had ever met and the thought that it was now proven made Harry smile. He moved on to the next light without reservation.

From consciousness to consciousness he dove in and out, leaping like a merman through an ocean of thought and emotion.

Molly Weasley was free in her head like she wasn't in reality. She flowed and swayed like water lapping against a shore, washing down the side of a mountain, flooding over plains and deserts. Her thoughts couldn't be contained except by her stern expression and rigid posture.

In contrast, McGonagall was everything she appeared. Her thoughts were sharp and quick, jabbing at Harry's mind like a javelin and leaving him aching as he retreated from her, satisfied but weary.

Nyphadora Tonks was colorful and lucid. Her thoughts flashed as fast as a hummingbird's wings from one to another, mostly resembling everyone else's minds as they dreamed. They changed so quickly that upon first examination Harry wondered how she ever got anything done. But as he watched he realized that each one was thought with perfect clarity and considered with efficiency before being gently laid aside to make room for the next thought. Harry had never seen anyone think as quickly as Tonks.

Mr. Weasley, next to Tonks, thought slow as mud. He took each idea in turn and rolled it over and over until he wore it down to nothing. And each idea sprouted five or six new ideas that he would then have to examine with determined consideration. His emotions flowed liked lava, searing in the passion with which he felt them but slow to change.

Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt both thought in much of the same way. Their minds were painfully analytical, finding the cracks and bumps of every thought and emotion and dissecting it to within an inch of its existence. But where Kingsley's over-all flavor tasted like power and purpose, Moody's rang with something that tasted shockingly like Snape; a zing of bitter fear coating each thought as it ran through his head—paranoia.

Each different mind pulsed with a different kind of energy, tasted slightly different, felt with a different level of intensity. Harry spent a long time identifying each one and matching it up with what he knew of the person in reality. He reveled in secrets that he unveiled; both serious and trivial.

Kingsley, a master of wand work, had secretly been working with Dumbledore to develop new spells that could help them track Death Eaters. They did not share this mission with the rest of the Order, not wanting to get their hopes up and risk them slacking off until they perfected the spell.

Tonks was harboring a rather embarrassing obsession with Lupin, who was the only one who hadn't made it to the meeting as he was currently completely immersed in a pack of Werewolves and could not safely communicate with the Order.

Moody had a soft spot for kittens and Harry often caught him worrying about the three he kept at home as pets.

And then Harry paused in his raid, noticing something that he hadn't initially paid much attention to. A dim glow, quite unlike the pinpricks that represented each mind in the room, seemed to light the entire area, touching all the pinpricks as firmly as Harry did.

Harry's first reaction was a spasm of panic. His next reaction shocked him as much as the glowing light had.

Something in him exploded outward, sending dark shapes like shrapnel flying in all directions. And before Harry could even cry out a warning, each bit of rubble bashed into the minds of his friends and allies. Harry looked around in alarm, his eyes darting from face to face around the circle. But no one seemed phased. No one seemed to have noticed that they were hit. His fingers bit into the arms of his chair as he inspected this new phenomenon and slowly the answer came to him.

The invading glow, once absorbing the lit minds of the Order as Harry had been, was now swirling around the lights like a fog. Its pattern seemed confused, searching. Harry couldn't understand at first; it was almost on top of each of the minds and yet it acted as though it could no longer hear them, could no longer breach the odd dark rings around each light—the dark rings that had exploded from Harry's own mind.

A triumphant grin burst across Harry's face and he threw up a hand to hide it from any curious eyes. Somehow, instinctively, Harry had given the Order the protections of his own mind, a wall that could be penetrated by only himself and of course, Draco.

A soft hiss, like a sigh, reached Harry's ears and he looked up. Across the circle, Dumbledore's blue gaze was penetrating, his unreadable emotions swirling in his eyes with the same agitation that the glowing fog represented as it swirled around Harry's barriers.

In that instance it suddenly occurred to Harry that he hadn't yet completed his task. There was one mind left in the room to search—one that had only moments ago been searching everyone else.

Harry drew in a deep breath, focusing all his attention on the strongest mental barrier he'd ever encountered. Thinking of it—feeling for it—sent a painful throb through his head. The black walls around his friends wavered but Harry closed his eyes and sank into the deepest recesses of his head, mining for every ounce of his magic and strength.

As he found it and called for it, it came; it collected itself into a swirling cloud of energy, churning and growing like a storm cloud. Harry drew it forward, away and out of himself. He hung it over Dumbledore's head, watching as its shadow covered the glow of Dumbledore's mind, which was rapidly curling back on itself, pulling behind its protective wall.

Then, will all his strength and will, he threw it down.

It struck against the wall hard and stuck there like a leech, draining the power of the barrier, sucking it into itself, growing stronger. With a ripping shriek that Harry must only have imagined, a fissure zigzagged down the wall, glowing in the darkness of Harry's power. And then the wall split and Harry was crushed beneath the flood of light that bleached everything in its path.

In the split second that he listened, Harry heard many familiar sounds and thousands of unfamiliar ones. The familiar he could put names to as quickly as he could call fire hot or sky blue. Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy came first, followed closely by his dorm mates, the other Gryffindors and finally the remainder of all the students he'd known at Hogwarts. After his peers came his teachers and the members of the Order, Remus Lupin and Rubeus Hagrid sticking out with extra familiarity.

Then came the unfamiliar. Everything sounded with the same tenors. He could hear basic feelings and thoughts as he felt and thought them; sadness, happiness, anger, elation, pain, fear, hope, faith. But he couldn't put names to the individuals who felt these things—the individuals he'd never heard before.

And then the second ticked by and Harry's instincts kicked in.

Silence pressed in on his mind like heavy water but Harry let himself drown in it. He went limp where he sat. His limbs felt soft as melted butter, his rubbery rib cage was the only thing that held his body from collapsing in on itself. Even with his eyes closed, he saw his stabbing headache like a bright light trying to penetrate his skull. No matter how unnatural his mental barrier now felt to him, he would not lower it again until he'd put some distance between himself and Dumbledore. He even took the barriers away from the minds around him to fortify his own.

The meeting progressed as Harry rested. Tonks, Moody and Kingsley had little to say about their hunt for Death Eaters as they remained frustratingly elusive. Charlie and Arthur Weasley were working diligently on secretly tracking down potential Order recruitments. Already by their efforts some new members sat in their midst today. Lee Jordan gave a hasty report on the new inventions he'd been helping the Weasley twins create to aid the Order before disappearing downstairs to check on his best friends.

After reports the planning started. Dumbledore and Snape conversed for a long time with occasional comments from Kingsley and Moody as they decided what more Snape should do the next time he joined the Death Eaters. Many ideas and offers were thrown at McGonagall and her team about fortifying Hogwarts.

On and on it all went until finally Dumbledore rose and raised his hands and Harry scrambled up straight, trying to look more dignified.

"Dismissed," Dumbledore said, and the Order dispersed slowly until only Harry and Dumbledore remained.

"Anything?" asked Dumbledore, rising calmly but avoiding eye contact. Harry knew Dumbledore understood what had happened.

Harry shook his head with absolute conviction. "There's no traitor here."

Dumbledore sighed. "Both a blessing and a curse," he said.

He swept across the room but Harry called out to him as he reached the door. He paused but did not turn back.

"If you can hear them," Harry said. "Why did you need me?"

When Dumbledore spoke his voice was so heavy it felt like another weight added to the crushing force over Harry's heart. "I feared I was missing something."

He disappeared and Harry was left with his own thoughts, suddenly more daunting than all the thoughts of the Order.


	23. Chapter 23

_I'm back! Here's the long awaited chapter 23! Everyone enjoy :) __And thank you, thank you to Sarah, my beta!_

**Chapter 23 – Words on the Wall**

Harry wanted to talk. But no matter how much he might love Draco his instincts carried his feet away from Draco's bedroom and towards the kitchen basement of Grimmauld Place. As he pushed open the door he was feeling hopeless. There would be no one here with whom he could have a two-sided conversation.

"Harry!"

There was a commotion across the room and Harry just caught sight of a bushy head rising off a bed before Madame Pomfrey cut into his line of vision.

"Miss Granger, really! If you can't stay put I'll be forced to ban all visitors!"

"Okay, okay, I'll be good," was Hermione's hasty reply. "Just let me see Harry. Please!"

When Madame Pomfrey relented and moved away to tend to her other patients, Harry approached Hermione's bed, excitement and relief bubbling up inside him.

She was grinning ear-to-ear and sitting up ramrod straight, enthusiasm tinged with sadness and worry coursing through her thoughts. But Harry didn't have to listen to her mind to see her bone-deep weariness. Her chest was rising and falling too quickly with how little she'd just exerted herself and she was pale as a sheet both in her face and hands, which were clutching tightly to the bed sheets.

"Oh Harry," she said breathlessly, latching onto his hand as soon as he reached her bedside. "I was so worried about you! Of course, Madame Pomfrey said you and Malfoy somehow escaped unscathed but she didn't have time to tell me the whole story and I've been out of my mind—"

"Hermione," interrupted Harry. "You don't look so good."

He caught Madame Pomfrey shooting them a concerned look before she turned back to the antidote she was brewing. Hermione shook her head.

"It's nothing. The Death Eater that got me used the same curse Dolohov did at the Department of Mysteries. They're very uncreative, aren't they, these Death Eaters? I mean really, the Draught of Living Death? It's not very frightening. Madame Pomfrey will have this lot up in a tick." She smiled encouragingly at Harry as she nodded back towards the still unconscious Weasleys.

"All the same," Harry frowned. "Maybe you should lay back and relax—" She looked ready to protest so he put a hand on her shoulder, pushing gently and said; "I promise I'll tell you everything."

And he did. He let her get settled, perched himself on the edge of her bed, and dove into the tale from the moment she was hit with the curse to the moment he left the library after searching through the heads of the Order.

She was a very good audience. She gasped and smiled in all the right places and she even clapped her hands over her ears and shook her head frantically when he described the feel and taste of Bellatrix's upper half in his mouth.

"How can you stand it?" she demanded. "Don't misunderstand me, I'm glad the woman is gone and you were so brave. But Harry...you _murdered_ her." Her eyes were wide as saucers.

Harry had to pause here to dig inside himself for the answer. He hadn't thought of it before and that surprised him. Surely he should feel _something_ for what he did. But there was a sort of wall that held back all the negative feelings like guilt, fear and disgust. He pushed against it curiously but it remained stubbornly motionless and it spoke to him.

_It wasss me,_ it said. _You're innocent. It wasss me._

And Harry agreed easily—happily. He felt no guilt because he did nothing wrong. He did not murder Bellatrix, he didn't even curse her. It was the power of the Scytale and it did what it did to protect Harry: its vessel; its host; its self. For that, he could not condemn it or fear it, he could only love it. For that, the two halves of himself had formed an unbreakable connection in which distinguishing between them was as clear as night and day and as hazy as a February morning fog.

He explained this as best he could to Hermione and she looked intrigued.

"The Scytale gene works in mysterious ways," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Before, while you were fighting what you were, all your instincts were telling you not to separate your two halves, not to differentiate between the two. Now that you've accepted what you are, you're able to do just that—encouraged even, in a way, to think of it not as you. It's a way to protect your mental health."

Harry's brow furrowed in thought, trying to decide if Hermione was insulting his mental capriciousness or complimenting his mental power. Then he decided he didn't care. She was only trying to understand for herself what was already understandable to Harry. He continued his story and they made it to the end; the part Harry was most itching to discuss; the part about Dumbledore.

"Well," Hermione mused. "That certainly explains a lot."

The color had returned to her cheeks and she looked misleadingly healthy. She was sitting up in bed and fidgeting with her fingers as if to not have a book in them was a complete waste of the use of having hands. Her eyes bore into Harry's with the usual illumination of intelligence he was so used to seeing. It made him feel warm inside and almost able to pretend the five Weasleys occupying the beds around them were only sleeping.

"Does it?" Harry asked.

"Oh come on, Harry! You've spent more time with Dumbledore than anyone. You must have wondered how he always seems to know everything that's going on...Even things he doesn't need to know..."

She turned scarlet and her thoughts raced over private memories she shared with Ron. Harry focused more of his mind on the words coming from her mouth instead of from her head.

"Erm...right well, anyway—" A ripple suddenly disturbed the train of Hermione's thoughts, as if she'd shaken them out like a blanket. "The point is, Dumbledore seemingly knows everything because he's been in all our heads."

"Spying..." Harry murmured.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "I prefer to think of it as protecting. He's never done anything but good with the knowledge he's gained from other minds. He may be..."

"Conniving?" Harry offered. "Scheming? Manipulative?"

Hermione scowled. "No! None of those are the word I was thinking of!"

"Then what was the word?" Harry asked skeptically.

She looked away, thinking hard. When she turned back her eyes were wide and worried. "I don't know," she whispered.

Harry shrugged and relented some to quell her fears. He didn't like to think of Dumbledore this way either. "Like you said; he's never done any bad. But he's not as good as I once thought either."

"But Harry, you're in peoples' heads all day too!" Hermione accused.

Harry shook his head. "It's not the same. What I do is natural to what I am. Just like breathing and eating and sleeping is natural. A dragon won't stop breathing fire just because it's scary. A Niffler won't stop taking shiny objects just because it's stealing—what?"

Hermione was grinning at Harry now and he thought it was a very inappropriate thing to do considering the current conversation.

"Oh, nothing," said Hermione airily. "It's just nice to hear that you've finally accepted everything. How did that come about, anyway?"

He rolled his eyes but Harry couldn't stop the small smile that broke through his initial irritation.

"The night at the Burrow," he admitted. "I couldn't stop all the Death Eaters alone so...well, I accepted help."

"But you didn't push it away when you didn't need it anymore," Hermione badgered. "Why not?"

"I dunno really...a mixture of reasons."

"Could one of those reasons be Malfoy?"

Harry chuckled. "I think Draco could be a few of those reasons."

Smiling warmly, Hermione patted Harry's hand. "I'm happy for you Harry—even if Malfoy is a huge prat." Her eyes darted once across the room and she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "Just give Ron the news slowly."

They laughed together and Harry felt a bubble of happiness rise in his chest. At the moment everything was so wrong: five of his closest friends were unconscious; he was in love with Draco Malfoy; Voldemort was slowly taking over the wizarding world; one of the Order's allies could possibly be a traitor. And yet, Harry had a sudden leap of faith that everything would be alright.

"So." Hermione suddenly sobered, as if hearing Harry's thoughts. "What are we going to do about the traitor?"

Harry's shoulders slumped and he looked down at his hands. "I've no idea," he admitted. "The traitor isn't in the Order but that obviously doesn't mean he or she doesn't have access to valuable information."

"But the traitor might yet be in the Order," Hermione pointed out.

"Hermione," Harry said, with the tone of someone explaining to a child that one plus one is two. "I checked everyone thoroughly. No one could have hidden anything from me."

"While that may be true," replied Hermione equally patiently. "There were two Order members that weren't in the library with you today."

Harry's brow furrowed and then shock spread across his face. "Sturgis Podmore!" he cried, somewhat triumphantly. "He's in St. Mungo's! It must be him!"

"Don't jump to conclusions," Hermione scolded. "This has to be looked into carefully and proven beyond doubt. It's not an accusation to be made lightly. Besides, there was one other not at the meeting...Lupin."

Harry scoffed angrily. "Don't be silly, Hermione. Of course Lupin's not the traitor."

Hermione looked affronted at the dismissal but she didn't argue. No doubt she would have as hard a time accepting Lupin as a traitor as Harry would.

"We've got to tell Dumbledore about Podmore immediately!"

"It's true," Hermione agreed. "He'll know a way to get into St. Mungo's."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "He can just walk right in and perform Legilimency on him."

Hermione looked at Harry pityingly. "Honestly, Harry, common sense. Voldemort has taken over the Ministry. Nowhere is safe anymore for those who support the Order. Voldemort has Death Eaters all over St. Mungo's. Why did you think I'm not there—or the Weasleys?"

"But how's it safe for Podmore, then?"

"It's not." Hermione looked sad. "But Madame Pomfrey didn't have the potions here to heal him and no time to brew them. It would have been riskier for Podmore not to go to the hospital."

For a moment, the two lapsed into regretful silence, consumed by horrific thoughts of a world overrun by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Then Hermione spoke again, softly.

"There is something you might do to help as we try to discover the traitor."

"What?" asked Harry.

"You said you did something while you were searching the Orders' heads—something to protect them from Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. "I'm not sure how, but I was able to give their minds the same protection mine has. Only Draco and myself would be able to break it."

"Could you maintain that protection over an extended period of time? Or from a distance?" asked Hermione eagerly.

Harry considered it. "It might be possible...I don't think it took much energy. It was more like an instinct—like pulling your hand away from something hot."

"Try it," Hermione urged. "On me."

Harry nodded once and then let his eyes fall shut, remembering the exact moment he'd first given his mental barrier to another mind. He could distinctly remember the image of dark, fast moving shapes shooting across the library. At the time he'd thought of them as shrapnel but now he saw it was more like shooting a Muggle gun where each bullet protected its target instead of hurting it. He moved around in his head, finding his unused wall, feeling it, examining it. He tried to break a piece of it off—tried to find the hidden bullets—but it was just a wall, as solid as ever.

"Come on, Harry! Do it!" Hermione hissed impatiently.

A lightning bolt of irritation struck down Harry's spine and the wall he was probing gave a monumental shudder and cracked in a few places. At first Harry wasn't surprised. His wall was out of use, it was bound to be a little weak. But then a thought hit him. All this time he'd been searching for a bullet but what could he do with that? What he needed was to find the _trigger_.

This time when he recalled the moment, he tried to feel the emotions he had felt then. He'd just discovered Dumbledore's presence, touching the minds of the Order with dim, searching fingers, and he'd been surprised. He didn't know who it was—what they wanted. There'd been worry, fear and then a fierce, enraged desire to protect—to shield.

Harry wrapped his focus around the memory of the emotions—he imagined Hermione in danger—and he squeezed.

He gasped at the thing that burst from his mind. This time it was still as black as night but it had solidified, formed a recognizable shape. The black hawk circled Hermione's head once and then collapsed on her, enfolding its wings protectively around her ears and laying its beak gently on the crown of her head.

"I did it," Harry exhaled.

Hermione beamed. "Brilliant! Now we just need to figure out how to test it."

For a brief second Harry was offended. Then he laughed and shook his head. "No need," he explained. "It works."

"How do you know?"

Harry shrugged. "I just know."

For a long moment he thought Hermione would reject this and demand Dumbledore himself use Legilimency on her. Then she smiled again. "I trust you, Harry." She plowed on without waiting for his gratitude. "Now try it on someone else."

"Who?" Harry asked, glancing around. Madame Pomfrey had left a moment ago, probably to get more potion supplies.

"Anyone," said Hermione. "Try to keep the shield around me and put one on someone else in the Order at the same time."

"But I don't know where anyone else is at the moment."

Hermione grinned mischievously. "That's all part of the challenge, isn't it?"

Harry sighed but relented. "Okay, but it's going to be hard."

This time when he retreated into his head he had no problem locating the source of the protective barrier. Only now it more resembled a nest than a wall, with countless eggs nestled into its soft leaves. Harry touched one gently and it cracked open. A second great hawk rose out of it, stretching its black wings as it soared up and around Harry's head, circling as it waited for instruction.

Harry didn't know exactly what to do so he let his instinct take over. And before he knew it, the hawk dived toward him with a shriek, dug its talons into his head, and came up with a name clutched tightly in its talons, dangling like a fish. Harry watched it swoop away—even after it was gone from the room; gone from the building; gone from London; weaving through the thick trees of a dark forest somewhere in Scotland.

Beneath it the shrubbery thinned and disappeared until it was flying through a clearing filled with figures. Some were standing, some were crouched on all fours, some were robed, and some were cloaked in strange furry shrouds. Some talked, some slept, some ripped savagely into small animal carcasses; birds, rodents, one baby deer.

Then the hawk circled lower around one particularly familiar figure with shaggy, fair hair and two parallel scars running the length of his scruffy face.

Remus Lupin did not even shudder when the hawk touched him, settled atop him and wrapped around him. He carried on with the conversation he was having with another werewolf in human form. And if Harry focused hard enough, he could even make out the words, echoing through his head.

_...You say Dumbledore would fight for us to have the same rights as Pure-Blood wizards?_ Lupin's companion was saying.

_The very same,_ Lupin replied.

Harry pulled back and darkness swirled around him like a black lake that ripples as its surface is cut. He came up to find Hermione staring at him; half expectant, half worried. He beamed at her.

"I can hear Lupin," he said.

Hermione's eyes widened. "You can...what?"

"I shielded Lupin," explained Harry. "So there's a piece of me inside him now. I can hear him! He's staked out with a bunch of werewolves and he's convincing them one-by-one to support Dumbledore."

"Harry...that's amazing!" Hermione shrieked. "More! Do more!"

Without even trying, Harry reached inside himself and stroked a dozen eggs. Hawks hatched one after another, took a name from him like a fish from the ocean, and swooped away in different directions. Slowly, new mental voices joined his own and Hermione's inside his head. It was just like being in a crowded room. He could focus in on one at will or he could tune them all out, like a buzz in the background.

And then another voice joined the group—this time in Harry's ears instead of in his head.

"Time's up, Mr. Potter! Out with you! Miss Granger needs her rest!"

Hermione snagged a hasty hug and then Harry was shooed from the room by a scolding Madame Pomfrey.

Harry grinned even as the door was slammed in his face and then turned and practically ran up the stairs. He couldn't wait to tell Draco all about the Order meeting and his newly discovered talent.

"Draco!" Harry called as he reached his bedroom door. He charged through without waiting for a reply but the room was empty.

Spinning around he went back across the hall to the bathroom. This was empty too. Likewise, the drawing room, library and study were all unoccupied. Harry even checked his own bedroom without luck before returning to Draco's room, feeling wary.

Upon second inspection he noticed two things. The first was that the trunk that stood at the foot of Draco's bed was tilted, its contents strewn across the floor. The second was a strangely shaped smear on the far wall. In the dim light Harry could only see it as a series of black smudges.

Cautiously, Harry moved closer. As he rounded the bed he gasped at the sight of more clothes tossed across the floor, a waste basket tipped over with the garbage spilled, a smashed gas lamp from the bedside table. Harry illuminated his wand and raised it up to the wall.

The stain was made into four words and the words were written in blood. Fire and ice coursed through Harry's veins to read them.

_Come find your bitch._

Beneath it, smeared so badly it was hardly recognizable, was the Dark Mark.


	24. Chapter 24

_Thank you to Sarah, my awesome beta!_

**Chapter 24 – Malfoy Manor**

"But there must be something you can do, Harry," Hermione breathed anxiously.

Harry growled irritably, the noise muffled by his hands which were cradling his face.

"There's nothing," he snapped for the hundredth time. "I can only wait until _someone _replies to the owls we sent. I don't know, Hermione! I don't know how to find him!"

"But in the meantime," she said. "You have so many new powers now! Can't you get into his head, try to communicate with him—find out where he is? Can't you at least put a shield on him like you did the rest of the Order?"

"No!" Harry cried, slamming his hands down onto the table they sat at in the library. "No, no, no! I've told you! Draco is immune to all my powers. There's nothing—unless he contacts me—there's nothing I can do."

"Why hasn't he?" Hermione whispered timidly. "Contacted you, I mean."

Harry shook his head dejectedly, his anger fading to be replaced by hopelessness. "I can only think of one reason..."

"He can't," concluded Hermione.

Harry fell silent, retreating into his thoughts which were rolling and crashing through his head like an angry sea. Images of a smug Voldemort, an endangered Draco and a crowd of leering Death Eaters swirled through his mind. From the moment he'd read the message on the wall to now—an hour later, waiting for an Order member to respond to their pleas for help—he'd been having repeating waking nightmares of Draco being neglected and tortured, his agony only ending in a flash of green light. And in those sweet, rare moments he could escape from the visions, he saw a new fate for Draco: lying abandoned in the dark, hidden where Harry couldn't find him in time; screaming in the drawn-out anguish of loosing the power of the Scytale; shriveling and dying; alone and cold.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, shaking him so roughly his head snapped back and forth on his shoulders. "Harry, stop it! I know what you're thinking about and you mustn't! You'll only make it worse for yourself. You need to concentrate right now, Harry. Clear your mind."

Harry dropped his head onto the table and looked up from beneath his lashes at Hermione. She was panting and clutching at her chest. All this stress couldn't be good for her recovery and Madame Pomfrey would surely have balked had she been there. But she was off searching personally for Dumbledore—not that Harry had any hope that she would find him. No one really knew where Dumbledore went when he wasn't at Grimmauld Place.

Suddenly, Harry stood up, knocking his chair backwards.

"That's it," he said. "I can't stand sitting around anymore. I'm going out to look for—"

He broke off and spun at the sound of a door slamming below. A voice called up the stairs—called for Harry.

"Up here!" shouted Hermione. "In the library!" Then she choked and doubled over to catch her breath.

By the time she'd recovered Tonks had darted nimbly into the room, cheeks flushed and chest heaving with exertion.

"I came as fast as I could—" she panted as she reached the place where the two were standing. "I was trailing Yaxley but he got away while I was reading your owl. What happened exactly? You only said Draco Malfoy had been kidnapped. Where is everyone else?"

"No one else has come yet," answered Hermione but Harry cut across her.

"Tonks—where is Voldemort's headquarters? You must know!"

Tonks' thoughts swirled briefly with confusion but then, in true Auror fashion, she got down to business. Her eyes focused and her mind hardened into a long flat bridge down which thoughts flowed in quick, orderly succession. She shook her head once, a whip-like snap to the side and back.

"We don't know where Voldemort stays but his Death Eaters have a few hideouts. We always keep a lookout on each one. Right now it's Mundungus and Hestia at the manors, and Aberforth is always on duty at Hogsmede."

"Hogsmede?" Harry and Hermione repeated at the same time.

"Yeah, mad, right?" Tonks nodded. "Voldemort's absolutely covered the Shrieking Shack in protective enchantments. We think one of his projects is working on a way to use the passageway to get into Hogwarts. Minerva's team has got it all blocked off, though."

"What are the other two locations?" demanded Harry.

"The Lestranges' Estate," Tonks listed. "And the Malfoy Manor."

Harry choked on his next question. "The M—Malfoy Manor?"

Tonks' thoughts rose up like the skeptical lift of an eyebrow. "Of course. Why did you think Dumbledore brought Malfoy to Grimmauld Place? He wouldn't survive a day in his home—not after how the senior Malfoy disappointed Voldemort."

Honestly, Harry had thought Draco moved in purely because of their new situation. He didn't feel like getting into all that with Tonks though. Though the Order knew about Harry being a Scytale, they weren't aware that he and Draco had to couple at least once a day to survive and that's the way Harry liked it.

"But his mother," Hermione gasped in Harry's silence, looking horrified.

"Ah, dear Auntie Cissy," Tonks said sarcastically, though Harry felt a tinge of remorsefulness in her mind. "As far as we can tell, she's still alive in there but..."

Harry didn't need access to her thoughts to see the images she imagined then. A powerful wave of regret swept through him that he hadn't had more compassion for Draco's plight to save his family. Harry had only considered Lucius' imprisonment but compared to his wife's fate, Lucius probably had the better deal of the two.

"Okay," Harry said, shaking the unhelpful thoughts away and focusing on the problem at hand. "So we've got to visit each of these places to talk to the guards there—find out which location they took Draco to. Then we'll figure out how to get in and—"

"Hold on," Tonks interrupted. "I think we ought to wait for the rest of the Order. Then we can—"

"No!" Harry shouted again. "You don't understand! We're running out of time! We have eight—maybe nine hours until it's too late!"

"How do you know that?" demanded Tonks.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Harry couldn't help the blush that rose in his cheeks.

"Draco is Harry's biological mate, Tonks," Hermione explained. "They can't be without each other for too long or—well, we don't know exactly what will happen, but something bad."

"Something terrible," Harry croaked.

Tonks hesitated for a second, looking between the two calculatingly. "Well," she finally said. "That changes things."

She strode swiftly to the door, Harry and Hermione trotting after her instinctively. She spouted instructions as she moved, sounding, for once, like a true Auror.

"Hermione, you'll stay here. Tell anyone that shows up that we've gone to Malfoy Manor. It's most likely where they'll have taken him but if not at least the Death Eaters there will know where he is.

"Harry, you'll come with me but if you do this you've got to listen to everything I say—and _obey_ me, Harry. That's very important. It won't help anything if you run off and get yourself into trouble."

At the front door of Grimmauld Place she turned suddenly and cracked her wand over Harry's head. He could feel the drizzle of a Disillusionment charm taking effect.

"I hear you're able to read minds," she said.

Harry nodded and then remembered she could no longer see him. "Yes," he confirmed.

A mischievous smirk spread over her face. "Oh, this will be too easy," she crowed, then tugged Harry out the door.

On the patch of grass across the street Tonks took his elbow to Apparate. The last thing he saw was Hermione's worried expression and the last he heard was her voice in his head—_Be careful, Harry_—before he was whirled away.

* * *

"Okay," Tonks breathed, her head tilted so close to Harry's that her words tickled his ear. "I need you to find Mundungus Fletcher. He should be around here somewhere but he'll be invisible—Moody lent him his invisibility cloak."

Tonks and Harry were crouched in a rather dense patch of bushes in the shadows of a small wood on the outskirts of the Malfoy property. The sun was setting, casting a long, narrow beam of light over the land that cut the horizon in half like a fiery spear. Harry thought of it like the hand on a clock. As it shrank closer and closer toward the horizon his time inched away.

Harry shifted slightly so he could pull his arm around to check his watch. Too much time had passed since leaving Grimmauld Place and now. Extensive protections had been placed for miles in all directions around the Malfoy Manor so that any visitors had to walk in, allowing no magic to pass them quickly to the center of the wards. There were only six hours remaining to them until Harry and Draco had to be together again.

Shaking away terrible thoughts of what would happen if they were too late Harry shut his eyes to do as Tonks asked. He reached out slowly, like he had during the Order meeting, his awareness stretching in all directions. Pinpricks of lights flickered on all around him, signifying a hundred life forms.

Tonks's light was the brightest, surrounded by a dozen creatures hidden with them in the trees and dirt. Her thoughts buzzed with determination and focus as she watched the looming manor before them with sharp eyes, scanning each window and door, back and forth, up and down.

And then a light almost the size of Tonks's blinked on and Harry encountered his own mental barrier before he pushed inside and Mundungus's thoughts joined Tonks's.

They blurred together slightly like the words of a drunk and were punctured with images and emotions that had nothing to do with his current situation. Harry compared this mind to a forest, its leafy green canopy punctured occasionally by a colorful butterfly.

"He's half asleep," Harry hissed accusingly. What kind of spy fell asleep on the job?

"Can you find him?" Tonks asked.

Without another word, Harry rose into a half-crouch and waded through the over-growth, led by the pull of Mundungus's thoughts. He followed the line of trees around the outside of the huge wrought iron fence that surrounded the manor and stopped when Mundungus's light was exactly the same brightness as Tonks's.

"He's here," he whispered.

Tonks turned slowly on the spot, her eyes scanning each bush and tree trunk. Harry shook his head.

Raising his wand, he pointed it at a low-hanging branch a few feet above his head.

"_Accio cloak_,"he commanded quietly and in a great flourish, Moody's old invisibility cloak fluttered up and then dropped into Harry's hand.

Mundungus Fletcher toppled out of the tree after it with a strangled curse and landed in a crumpled heap at their feet.

"Bloody 'ell," he croaked, straightening up and dusting off. "Gone and scared the living daylights right outta me!"

"Keep it down, Dung ," hissed Tonks. "Don't you remember where you are?" She sounded slightly angry though her voice held not even half of the accusation and frustration she felt at Mundungus for falling asleep on the job.

"Nah, no need," Mundungus grunted, digging through his robes and withdrawing a grimy pipe. "The 'ole place is empty as a leaky cauldron. Ain't no one to 'ear you in there."

Tonks's eyes widened. "What do you mean? Where've they all gone?"

But Harry was one step ahead of her. He'd already dived in and pulled the answer right out of Mundungus's hazy head. He spoke before Mundungus could even open his mouth.

"He doesn't know," he whispered. "He just saw them all file out of the manor together and Disapparate."

"Made a real show of it too, they did," added Mundungus, a cloud of smoke now circling his head like a halo. "Single file, like, and 'ooded so as I couldn't see 'em. Silent as the grave too, they was, and they just went orf like they fancied a walk."

"And you didn't see fit to report this?" snapped Tonks.

Harry was startled to realize he'd never seen her angry before. She turned to Harry with fire blazing in her eyes and just stared at him. He felt the cogs in her brain working.

"What now?" he asked. Possibilities sprang up one by one in her mind and Harry found himself shaking his head against them. "We can't go off and check the other two hideouts unless we're sure this one's empty. Draco could still be in there after all."

"What do you suggest then?" asked Tonks. "We can't just go inside. Not without a Dark Mark."

"Let me try something," Harry said, letting his eyes fall shut.

Behind him he could hear Tonks ordering Mundungus back to Grimmauld Place to wait with Hermione and give any Order members the information he had about Malfoy Manor. He tuned them out and focused on the mental noises around him. This time went he stretched he went wider and faster than ever before, pushing his strength to its limits. When he had the entire manor in his scope only one new light had joined the others.

It was female, he knew right away. The two genders tasted infinitely different to Harry. The next he knew was sorrow and hopelessness. She was moping, Harry concluded at first, but then he noticed a spark of anger beneath everything, like the quiet growl of a lioness protecting her cubs. He knew then exactly what she was feeling. She was stuck like he was, in the looping images of potential realities, like haunting shadows creeping in around her. And more surprisingly, her nightmares all focused on the same subject as Harry's—Draco.

Without thought, Harry opened his mouth wide and called her name into the growing darkness.

"Harry!" Tonks cried, clutching frantically at his wrist and shoulder.

He jerked out of her grip, moving forward out of the wood and towards the gate.

"NARCISSA MALFOY," he shouted again, his voice booming over the lawn.

After a mental hesitation, Tonks decided to trust him. She crept up beside him, her wand preceding her, and waited with him at the gate. Her mind swirled with curiosity, apprehension, and the tense anxiety that came from the expectation of an attack. Thankfully, she remained silent.

Then the front door swung open and a tall, slim figure came forward.

She swept down the drive as swiftly as she could with the limp she had to endure. Robes swirled around her feet and her hood fluttered but did not fall back to reveal her. But Harry knew her.

She stopped ten feet from them, her own wand level with Tonks's.

"Harry Potter," she breathed. "I should kill you where you stand."

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Tonks cried, reacting as any Auror would to the threat.

Her spell ricocheted off the gate and flew away into the trees. Narcissa's thoughts twisted into a smirk that could not be seen beneath in the shadow of her hood.

"You would curse your own aunt, Nymphadora?" she taunted.

Tonks growled.

"Where have the Death Eaters gone?" Harry asked, as though the occurrence had not happened.

"Why should I tell you?" snapped Narcissa, her wand flicking from Tonks to Harry.

Harry had no patience for her misdirected anger. "I'm trying to save your son!" he shouted at her, his hands balling into fists.

"As you should," she shrieked back, her wand emitting silver sparks. "It's your fault he's in this mess to begin with!"

"Yes," Harry admitted in a weak voice.

"He'll be tortured!" Narcissa screamed, as though he hadn't spoken. "He'll be _killed!_"

She dropped to her knees and her hood fell back and Harry's heart stuttered at the sight of her twisted face. Some spell had torn open her skin from hairline to chin, leaving a ragged, bloody line down the left side of her face that distorted her eye and mouth. Though the eyeball had somehow miraculously been unharmed, the white of it had turned almost completely red by a hundred popped veins. The left corner of her mouth was twisted permanently into a gruesome, gaping snarl that showed bloodstained teeth and tongue. And though the right side of her face remained flawless, it was streaked with the shiny trails of tears.

"He'll be killed," she repeated, this time in a whisper broken by a strangled sob.

"I'll save him," said Harry, quieter this time though his voice was hardened by unwavering determination. "But I need your help."

"You can't defeat him," Narcissa suddenly gasped. "The Dark Lord—he has so many new strengths. The last time—" her voice broke. She tried again. "The last time he was in power he was only a man. Now...Now he's a monster! There's nothing you can do!"

Harry shook his head and let his power rush through his veins, boiling his blood, seeping up into his skin, illuminating him from the inside out. "But I'm a monster too," he said, and Narcissa shied away from him, her eyes wide as saucers.

He did not let his power wane and slowly she leaned in again, inching forward on her knees, imploring with her eyes.

"Save him," she begged. "Bring him back to me. Save him."

"Where did they go, Narcissa?" he demanded. "Where did they take him?"

"Hogwarts," she breathed. "They're all at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Tonks finally spoke. "But they can't get in. Do you mean Hogsmede? The Shrieking Shack?"

Narcissa shook her head solemnly. "He's in. He's at Hogwarts."

Harry and Tonks turned wide eyes on each other.

"That's why no one came to Grimmauld Place," Harry whispered.

"So many civilians at Hogwarts," Tonks murmured, her voice and thoughts ripped with worry and terror. "We have to go, now!"

"Wait," Narcissa yelped. "Take me with you! Please!" She shot to her feet and reached for the gate. When she touched it lightning shattered down the spokes and with a bloodcurdling scream she was tossed into the skies, tumbling through the air and crashing to the ground fifty feet away.

And just like that the power rolling through Harry reared up inside him, anger ripping through him in a silent howl and pouring out of him in a fountain of white light. It fell on the gate like a waterfall and wherever it touched the iron melted, as though Harry's magic were acid.

When the spell ran out of him and darkness swept in once more all that remained of the gate were a few standing spokes, their sides streaked with long drips of hardened iron. Harry crossed the barrier confidently with Tonks following and they strode to Narcissa's limp form.

Harry reached a hand down to her and hesitantly, cautiously, she took it, her cool fingers curling around his. When she was on her feet, Harry clasped Tonks by the shoulder and the three were gone.


	25. Chapter 25

_[A/N: Thank you, Sarah, for being a killer beta :)_

_Also a HUGE thank you to every single individual out there who has reviewed Serpent Tales. I have over 300 reviews and I'm practically new to this site! That really makes me want to cry with joy. You all are awesome and I can't thank you enough. Just know that this story is for all of you. I wouldn't write if I couldn't hear from the readers :)]_

**Chapter 25 – The Traitor**

Hogsmede was alive with the flickering illumination of a raging fire and the chorus of a hundred terrified screams. Harry was just in time to see the bloody sign of the Hog's Head one last time before it was caught up in the flames pouring from the pub's smashed windows. In the distance he could just make out the grounds of Hogwarts, the site of even more chaos and destruction; the violent curses of Death Eaters, the shimmering shields of the Order, the unorganized commotion of so many innocent civilians who put their faith in the infallibility of the Hogwarts castle, and even, to Harry's immense surprise, the hulking shapes of two club-wielding giants.

"Get down!" Tonks cried and Harry was forced to his knees as a spell flew over his head.

Moments later Madam Rosmerta dashed past, throwing hexes over her shoulder at the pursuing Death Eater.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry bellowed instinctively before he'd even had a chance to fumble for his wand.

A jet of red light sprang from his palm and rushed the Death Eater, hitting him square in the chest. Before the body had even hit the ground Harry was off, sprinting down the road through the crowds of frightened shop keeps and more raging fires. He could hear Tonks calling after him but he didn't slow. In fact, he hoped he'd lose her and she'd go on to Hogwarts to help where she could. He wasn't sure what Narcissa would do but the thought of leaving her trapped alone in her empty manor with her morbid thoughts while her son was in danger had seemed incredibly cruel to Harry.

Suddenly, Harry ran head-long into a brutally unforgiving barrier. He dropped like a rock and lay in the dirt in a daze for a moment while his vision swirled and solidified again. When he pushed himself onto his feet with a groan his nose throbbed and blood dripped down into his mouth. For a split second it occurred to him that fixing his broken nose would be easier than feeding a Flobberworm—and then his magic was put to better use.

With his hands outstretched he took a slow step forward. His fingers penetrated the impossible barriers and they parted as he came in, rushing around him like icy water and closing behind his back. With one steady step after another he gained on the house that grew out of the shadows. And then a ripple shuddered through the heavy air surrounding him.

Harry looked back to see Tonks gaping at him, her hands flat on the air as if pressed against a window. _How is he doing that?_ she thought loudly and he was momentarily swept up into the racing thoughts of her alien mind.

In his moment of distraction, the wards closed on him, thick like molasses. Air was forced from Harry's lungs at an alarming rate and his forward advancement was suddenly halted. And just as blackness began to creep in around his vision a gentle touch brushed over his back, hot in comparison to the coldness of the murderous wards.

"Move, Harry," Dumbledore's voice echoed from behind him, clear in the din of panic all around. "You're almost there."

His chest aching, his pulse slowing, his vision blurring, Harry allowed Dumbledore's magic to guide him. Three terrifying, painful steps later, he broke through to the other side of the wards.

Air rushed down his throat, light and cool and more refreshing than pumpkin juice on a hot day. Harry collapsed to his knees as he gulped it in and when he drank his fill he turned to confront Dumbledore—he had to know about Draco and the kidnapping.

But Dumbledore was so impossibly far away. Had Harry really traveled that far? He was waving his wand in a series of complicated patterns at the far side of the wards and Harry recognized his intentions instantly—but he didn't have time to wait for Dumbledore to disable the barriers. He had to find Voldemort. Tonight—whichever way it went—Harry would end this war between them.

So he turned back to the dilapidated Shrieking Shack and, without even considering what spell would work best, his magic pried the nails out of the wood covering the door. Harry crossed into the house alone and frightened but determined. The door swung shut behind him, silencing the terrors from the town and eliminating what beams of moon and starlight had lit the entryway.

Then a voice echoed in the empty room, slithering and sliding like a cloak along a dusty floor.

"I had hoped you would come to me, Harry Potter."

A word was whispered that Harry didn't know and a beam of light raced toward him. The guardian in his chest reared up protectively and magic glowed warm and bright at his finger tips. But the spell was too fast and when it hit him the breath rushed out of Harry. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

When Harry came around the first thing he was aware of was a man's ragged breathing. It shuddered and rattled like the bones of a skeleton and it hurt his head. He wished it would stop. And then he realized it was him.

He was cold—colder than he could ever remember being since he'd first kissed Draco. After he burned that first time he'd remained so hot—like he suffered from a perpetual fever—that even the touch of another human felt like ice on his skin. His throat ached with the cold he was forced to breath and he had a stitch in his side that zinged with pain every time he inhaled.

As he continued the silent inventory of his body he discovered that his nose still throbbed, his head ached, and—most disconcerting—he couldn't move a single limb.

Harry's eyes sprang wide open and a hissing chuckle worked its way through the silence toward him. Harry zeroed in on the direction of the voice and shadows began to loom out of the blackness—darker spots in the dark room. One such spot was tall, thin and cloaked and drifted closer to him subtly as it paced back and forth between the walls. Harry's scar seared with a pain that threatened to blind him as he looked upon it.

"You think I can't escape these bonds?" he croaked, hoping a conversation would take his mind off the pain in his head.

The chuckle again and then Voldemort spoke. "Oh, I have no doubt that your magic could free you...if you asked it to."

Harry's eyes narrowed. For someone who shouldn't know about what he was, that was a very apt description of the way his power worked.

"Yes, Harry," hissed Voldemort. "I know how it works. I know what you are..._Scytale_."

Shock coursed through Harry in an electric current. Was Voldemort hearing his thoughts? It couldn't be possible.

"But I am, Harry. I can hear you." Voldemort paused in his pacing and turned towards Harry. As his eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, he could just make out the leer stretching Voldemort's revolting mouth. "Perhaps if you didn't _scream_ your thoughts they might be more protected."

Well that was fine, Harry thought. Voldemort could read his thoughts—but he couldn't contain Harry's power. In a split second, without actually having to think the spell, he let the magic in his veins seep outward, forming the countercharm he needed. Feeling and mobility rushed back into his limbs and then, as quickly as it had come, it drained back out again.

Harry stared down at himself in awe. He let his magic out again and his fingers and toes tingled with renewed strength—and then went numb. Pushing this time, sensations exploded in all his nerve endings for half a second before he was as paralyzed as before. Harry teetered in the blinking numbness and toppled sideways. In a quick instinct to save himself, his threw his magic outward with all his strength and in the moment that he hit the ground his arms were so over-sensitized that the bones crunched beneath him.

Harry screamed so loudly that he was sure he ripped his vocal chords and then suddenly, he felt no pain—nothing. He was bound again.

Above him Voldemort was laughing softly.

"We can play this game forever, Harry. Or you can give up and we can talk."

One more time Harry threw off the bonds but the pain in his arm was so crippling that he was almost relieved when Voldemort counteracted his magic.

"Are you satisfied?" Voldemort breathed.

Harry glared up at Voldemort. He would not give him the satisfaction of his surrender. Instead, he focused all his power on resurrecting a mental wall so solid that he somehow felt even Draco could not break through.

Voldemort raised an astonished eyebrow at him and the corner of his mouth turned down in dissatisfaction.

"But Harry," he said with mock disappointment. "How will I answer all your questions if I cannot hear them?"

"Where's Draco?" Harry demanded, ignoring Voldemort's act.

Voldemort smirked. "I suppose that is one solution. Very well, Harry Potter, we can have a nice conversation, the two of us."

He pointed his wand and Harry was lifted into the air and rotated until he fell onto a moldy, moth-eaten couch. Voldemort sank into a rather nicer armchair across from him. "Would you like some tea?" he offered sarcastically.

"You might as well just kill me," spat Harry. "You don't have long."

"If you are referring to your dear Headmaster just beyond my wards, I am not worried," Voldemort said. Then he smiled. "But you should not be worried either, my friend. I will kill you...in time."

A sudden jolt of panic rippled through Harry. Time—how much time had passed since he'd left Grimmauld Place? He tired to consult his watch but his wrist was turned upside down and he could not move it.

"You have two hours remaining to you," Voldemort said, noticing where it was Harry was looking. "You were unconscious for quite some time. A waste, I must say, if you are bent on rescuing your mate."

Harry gaped at Voldemort, at a loss for what to say.

"Although," he continued, pretending to ignore Harry's shock. "I don't know why you would want to rescue him, considering he betrayed you."

"What are you talking about?" Harry tried to demand, but his voice came out strangled.

"It's sad really," mused Voldemort. "That you have yet to figure it out. I wonder what possessed you to trust Draco in the first place. The two of you have never been amicable, after all. I suppose he fed you the story about wishing to save his family. He does favor that lie."

Harry's mind was reeling. He hardly had enough focus to keep his mental wall in place, but the slithering guardian wrapped round his heart lent him its strength. Stories—lies? No, it was Voldemort. Voldemort was the liar!

"Oh dear," Voldemort murmured. "It seems you doubt me. If only there was a way to persuade you to see truth..."

Voldemort leaned forward intently until his face was only a half a metre from Harry's. Harry couldn't draw his eyes away. He watched in horrified fascination as Voldemort's red slits began to writhe and undulate with some sort of magic. And then they were growing—wider and wider until all Harry could see was red. And the red began to form shapes and the shapes began to move and the movements followed a pattern Harry recognized as easily as his own name—people walking; people speaking—a memory.

_Narcissa Malfoy knelt prostrate at the foot of an eager Voldemort. She raised her hand to him. In it was a letter._

_"It is from Draco," she said. "Something amazing has happened. Harry Potter has claimed him as his mate."_

_"His mate?" Voldemort snapped. "What kind of mate?" _

_"His Scytale mate, my Lord. Potter is a Scytale." _

_Voldemort was silent for a long while, thoughts and plans whirling behind his eyes, his hands coming together in a subtle sign of perverse joy. _

_"And how does Draco feel about this?" he breathed after a time. _

_"He feels this could be the key to Potter's downfall. He wishes to use his new position to bring Potter to you." _

_A wicked smile curled Voldemort's lips. _

_"May his wishes be granted," he hissed._

_The scene changed. Draco Malfoy was alone in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. Harry watched in horror as he made a mess of his possessions and then slit open his own palm. With his undamaged hand he drew his blood across the wall, writing a message. Then he turned and walked away._

_He appeared in front of Voldemort. _

_"He will have approximately twelve hours to find me," he said._

_Voldemort's leer was repellent. _

_"Well done, Draco."_

The scene vanished and despite his disgust and horror Harry experienced a pang of loss when he could no longer see Draco's face.

"Does that convince you?" Voldemort asked quietly.

Harry couldn't speak. His mouth and eyes alike were wide with shock and terror.

"Does that make you sad, Harry Potter?" whispered Voldemort. His voice circled and caressed Harry. "Does it make you hurt—ache—cry? Are you angry with Draco for betraying you? Are you angry with yourself for being too trusting?"

He listed the progression of Harry's thoughts with flawless finality, as if reading them off a page and Harry was only slightly affected by the realization that his wall had fallen—that his mind was open to his worst enemy. And then he was raging mad. His anger and hurt and betrayal melded with the same feelings coming from his guardian and they swept up through him in a whirling cyclone and poured out of him in a violent whisper.

"I don't like it when you listen to my thoughts," he said to Voldemort.

His vision flickered red and for a second he wondered if Voldemort was trying to take him into another memory. But this time, he wouldn't let Voldemort control it. He would go in himself. He would find every scrap of information he ever wanted. He would devour it all and then spit it back out at Voldemort in a multihued flame of retribution.

Harry rose up from where he sat—his injuries, pain and immobility a thing of the past—and loomed over Voldemort, who was frozen with shock and awe. And then he dove back down again, penetrating those vile eyes and twisting into his mind like a drill, thoughts and memories and emotions swirling up around him in an evil black cloud that blotted out the world, reality and even Harry himself...

_

* * *

_

A/N: Ugh, I'm sorry it's so short, especially since it's been so long since my last update. But it's necessary and I've already gotten started on the next chapter and it's going to be a good one, folks :D So, I hope you can forgive me.


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: So, this chapter is the big one—the one I've been dreading all the way through the story xD I just wanted to offer a bit of a warning, it starts out confusing but keep kicking! I promise by the end you'll understand what's going on. Thanks dear beta Sarah for being so amazing!_

**Chapter 26 – Imprisoned**

I stood before a crackling fire, watching the flames calmly as I waited. Above the mantle was an extravagant mirror set in a gilded frame. It reflected my face; dark hair and eyes and an unlined, handsome complexion. I felt powerful and content every day in my beautiful body. I could have anything I wanted—I _would_ have it.

When the door behind me opened, I turned slowly to the two kneeling visitors on my carpet.

"Rise," I commanded them and they did; Lucius Malfoy and Walden Macnair.

"My Lord," Lucius said, "We have brought you our report; three new creatures this month."

"Tell me," I allowed airily as I crossed to my winged armchair.

Lucius opened a thick folder and began reading from a stack of parchment.

"The first; dragon—Peruvian Vipertooth. Registered at the Ministry of Magic with a dangerousness classification of—"

"I am not interested in dragons, Lucius," I told him contemptuously.

Honestly, if he hadn't yet figured out why I had assigned him and Macnair to this mission, he was not worthy of my notice.

With a bow of his head, Lucius apologized and then moved on.

"The second, Dominnua—also know as the Lady of Souls—"

"Lucius, my friend," I interrupted again. "Skip to the good part."

Lucius dipped his head again.

"The Dominnua can hear and communicate with the soul of every being. Contrary to popular belief, she does not have the power to control, destroy or create—"

"No," I said shortly, my eyes narrowing angrily.

It gave me small pleasure to see Walden shift uncomfortably where he stood.

Lucius skipped hastily to the end of his report.

"The third," he said in a rather strangled voice. "Scytale—a witch or wizard with the enhancements of a Scitalis. Registered at the Ministry of Magic with a dangerousness classification of the highest degree..." Lucius looked up slowly. "Would you like me to skip ahead, my Lord?"

I only smirked, but he knew what it meant.

"Scytale are best known for their ability to hear all thoughts, no matter how well guarded. What is not publicly known about Scytale is the way their magic works. While it is commonly believed that the Scytale is simply a human with a genetic transformation, this is not true. "

"A Scytale is the spiritual joining of a human and a Scitalis in which both human and serpent entwine their minds to gain enhanced magical and mental strength the likes of which have not yet been matched—"

"That's all, Lucius," I murmured.

I was suddenly tense in my chair, excitement coursing through me. Could this be what I'd been searching for? After all this time, could I finally have found the final step to becoming the most powerful being in the entire world?

"My Lord." Lucius bowed. The two men began moving backwards.

"Leave the file," I snapped.

Lucius laid it on the desk before me and retreated again. But before either could reach the door it slammed open and another man slipped into the room.

"Severus Snape," I snarled, the name unpleasant on my tongue. He was a slippery fellow—too mysterious. I had been considering killing him these last few days.

"My Lord," Severus panted, bowing before me. "Forgive me—I have urgent news."

"What news?" I demanded, eager to have him gone so that I could peruse Lucius' file.

"A prophesy, my Lord," breathed Severus. "I've just heard—from Sybil Trelawney to Albus Dumbledore. There is a boy...a boy who is prophesized to defeat the Dark Lord..."

* * *

"Very good, Potter," a voice hissed, a murky light in a tornado of blackness.

Potter.

There was recognition in that word—name. It was a name. Potter.

The tornado raged. Potter was dashed away. A new scene unfurled—a memory. His memory. My memory. We fell together into it—were crushed beneath the weight of it. We were slaves to its will and nothing of us was left behind...

* * *

I left the graveyard of my father that night in such a rage that my vision flared red. My Death Eaters knew not to talk to me nor even follow. I had lost the Potter boy again! I had gone to such great lengths—suffered longer than was necessary. I had stolen his blood to do away with the limitations my magic suffered when faced with his and he had still evaded me!

As I fled the scene of my fourth failure, I allowed my magic to flare out around me, relieving my wrath on my surroundings. No tree was left standing—no tombstone undamaged. By the time I had reached a safe Apparition point my mind had already moved on, my rage curbed. I was focused on my next task.

The Lestrange Estate was dark and abandoned. Its floors were dusty and in every corner hung a cobweb. Stories above my head I could hear a ghoul clanging in the attic. I drifted hauntingly through the silent corridors without a care. Soon I would free my most faithful from Azkaban and the manor would be restored to the great edifice it once was, busy with the work of my Death Eaters. I reached my destination then and pushed aside a rotting door.

The study was exactly as it had been fourteen years ago. The last time its door had been opened was the night I had dashed through it after Severus Snape relayed to me the message of my prophesy.

And there, on the decaying wooden desk, was a forgotten file, hidden beneath layers of dust.

Crossing the room I scooped it up, brushed aside the filth, and cracked it open. It fell obligingly to the page I desired and I tilted my head and read...

_A Scytale is the spiritual joining of a human and a Scitalis in which both human and serpent entwine their minds to gain enhanced magical and mental strength the likes of which have not yet been matched_

_Because of its natural connection to the metaphysical universe, Scitalis are attracted to prophesized witches and wizards. Upon the witch or wizard's first kiss—a sign of adulthood which the Scitalis interprets as the safest moment to inhabit a mind—the Scitalis will leave the physical world and join its new host inside the human's body. _

_Through the kiss, the Scitalis will transfer a modicum of its power, bonding the two humans irreversibly. From then on, once every twenty-four hours, the two humans must couple so that the Scitalis may reunite its two parts briefly, ensuring its own survival. If this does not happen, the Scitalis will be forced to remove itself from both bodies and put itself back together. _

_This abrupt removal most commonly results in the death of both human hosts. The longer they've lived with the Scitalis in their body, the more they've adapted to its strength. They will eventually not be able to live without it._

_As for the Scitalis, upon its removal from its hosts, it must find and ingest any form of sustenance from the physical world that it can find. It cannot live for an extended period of time in the metaphysical universe without a host body._

_Its other option is to inhabit a nearby mind. However, this oftentimes does not work and can result in another human death. The Scitalis is meant to be split between two bodies because its strength is too great to be contained in one. If it tries to inhabit a human that is not sharing a kiss at the moment the Scitalis joins it, the Scitalis may overpower the human._

By the time I'd finished reading the report plans were already unfolding in my head, a list of necessities forming.

I would need a pair of Scytale.

I would need a prison that their enhanced magic could not break through.

I would need a containment apparatus for the Scitalis.

The first would be entirely too easy, thanks to the Ministry of Magic's laws demanding half-breed registration. My spy in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures could bring me the list of all registered Scytale. From there I could have a pair abducted from their very beds in the night.

The next would take some planning. I'd need to research a method of capturing metaphysical energies. Perhaps I could draw a Containment Triangle and use gemstones placed at each point to summon the kinds of magic I'd need.

The final step would be the hardest of course. Off the top of my head I knew of nothing that might hold a metaphysical Scitalis save for a human couple. I feared trial and error would be the only approachable method. I would not regret the sacrifices of the Scytale I would have to use—only the possibility that I might fail before I succeeded.

I threw the file down, its pages scattering across the desk, and swept from the room. I would get started right away.

* * *

The memory changed and in the moment before another could fill its place, new things swirled into existence. The first to solidify was an identity: Harry Potter. He had tousled black hair and vivid green eyes. He was marked with a lightning bolt scar and a silver three-tailed serpent.

_A Containment Triangle._

Thoughts from another head and another time continued to pour into Harry's mind, slowing his reentrance into reality. The tornado spun fiercely, forcing its next memory on Harry. He tried to shake it off, tried to think his own thoughts.

_With three gems set at each of the three points._

His vision was coming back. Everything was blurry—lighter smudges on a black canvas. He blinked, desperately willing the scene into focus. It came slowly.

_Aragonite to separate..._

There was a man cowering before him, holding his head in his hands.

_Fluorite to clarify..._

He was moaning and trembling. Harry strained his ears to hear him, forcing the foreign thoughts of gemstones and ritual triangles out of the way.

"Out..." he was growling. "Out of my head."

_Diamond to strengthen..._

Harry couldn't resist it anymore. The thoughts were swirling around him so fast now that they were creating a picture. He tried to avert his eyes but one stray glance was all it took.

He was swept up again. He wasn't him. There was no him. There was nothing but this tidal wave of memories, each vying to be on top; a tangle of recollections tugging to be free of each other, playing out faster, mixing together—stretching out, long and dark and triangular...

* * *

I stood back to admire my work; the black triangle painted onto the stone floor, a pattern of runes decorating each edge, three gemstones heading each corner—a golden Aragonite, a violet Fluorite, and one flawless, diatonic Diamond. Then the heavy, dungeon door creaked open and Bellatrix Lestrange sauntered through, leading two unconscious bodies through the air at wand point.

"Very good, Bella," I smirked. "Put them there."

She dropped them unceremoniously into the triangle and two sets of chains cuffed them into place. They were special chains that I alone had slaved over; doused in many potions and enhanced by many enchantments. They were purely precautionary. I was sure my Containment Triangle would hold them.

Gently, almost adoringly, I placed a large silver instrument on the ground between the bodies. Together, Bellatrix and I backed out of the room, bolting the door behind ourselves. Through a window in the stone wall, we watched the Triangle come to life, its shimmery wards lighting the chamber with a soft, pearlescent light.

Then we waited.

After a time, the curse Bella had used on the couple wore off. They woke, startled and afraid. They reached for each other but could not touch. They spoke but could not console. There was no way out for them—no doubt a non-occurrence for most Scytale. But I had done it. After more than a year of grueling research and many experiments, I had built a unit that could contain a Scytale.

I had yet to build one to contain a metaphysical Scitalis.

All the same, I watched the apparatus set between the two Scytale eagerly, hoping to see some sign that it was absorbing the power of the Scitalis as it ran out of its host bodies.

The apparatus was molded into the shape of a Scitalis, its three tails curling provocatively, its mouth opened in a silent hiss. It had once been larger than life—ten feet tall and weighing four-hundred kilos. That was before I discovered that volume did not matter. Now it stood at the height of a baby hippogriff and was still light enough to carry. I had gone to many lengths to make it a suitable container for a Scitalis spirit but it had failed me five times already.

And then the apparatus began to glow. My eyes narrowed expectantly as I watched the translucent Scitalis approach and explore my creation. For so long my hands were clenched into fists that blood streaked my palms. Suddenly, the chamber went black. The wards had fallen.

Without hesitation I ripped the door open and lit the room. My wand light washed over the scene.

There were the two bodies, tormented expressions unyielding to the peace of death. There was the Triangle, the gems unmoved but no longer holding the magic the runes summoned for them. And there was my apparatus, seemingly untouched.

Slowly, I lowered my wand, slipping it into the open mouth of the serpent replica.

Anticipation rolled through me in waves, double what I had felt a moment ago. And then, as quickly as it had come, it vanished, disappointment taking its place. I knew a failure when I saw one and this was a failure. I was hearing me but I could not hear Bella, framed in the doorway—nor was my magic enhanced.

I ripped my wand from the device, snatched it from the ground and threw it at the wall. It did not break—it did not even dent. I picked it up again and swept out of the room.

At the foot of the stairs that led out of the Lestrange Estate dungeons I turned back to Bella.

"Get rid of the bodies," I ordered and then left.

As I stormed through the manor I came across Severus Snape, exiting the Lestranges' potions lab. I thrust the apparatus into his arms.

"Destroy this," I snarled.

He took it and left the manor before I could speak another word...

* * *

Something was thrashing—fighting against the will of the tornado of memories. It was pulling away, separating. Things were coming back that hadn't been before; what didn't belong was leaving. Harry Potter had returned, gazing all at once upon the past and the present. He struggled to make sense of the blended images but he couldn't tell which Voldemort posed a real threat and which was merely the face of a nightmare.

One of the evil faces contorted into painful concentration. The words he spoke were so strangled that Harry couldn't make them out. The end of his wand lit in the center of Harry's vision. As the light grew, the second Voldemort was lost behind the hazy glow.

Before Harry had even decided whether or not he was in danger a gate inside him opened and his magic spilled outward. Voldemort's spell was caught inside a crystal orb, ricocheting off the sides and striking at itself. It exploded, fireworks going off within the safety of the orb, burning bright patterns on the insides of Harry's eyelids.

Reality flashed back with the explosion and Harry threw his hand out, releasing his magic. The orb shattered and all that was left of the spell spiraled lazily upward in a tendril of black smoke. The shards of the orb rained down on Voldemort—a deadly shower of shrapnel.

Voldemort drew his wand over his head in a sweeping arch and the crystal crashed over and around him, smashing into a fine powder.

"You can't defeat me, Potter!" he shouted over the racket. "I have the power of the Scitalis, too!"

Their minds, still weakly connected, found a memory together. They both fought to resist, shielding their eyes from the cloaked man falling out of the tornado—from the room unfurling from the darkness.

But something stronger than either of them pulled them in and reality once more winked out of existence. They were not them—Harry and Voldemort—they were him, standing alone in a dark room...

* * *

I held much disdain for this couple; so happy—so complete with each other and their abilities. Perhaps all six previous couples had been just like this one but I hadn't noticed it until my frustration had crept in on me. I didn't take well to failure.

This time I hadn't bothered preparing a containment apparatus. I had decided to take this in steps. First I would learn how to manipulate the Scitalis that seeped out of them and later I would learn how to contain it. So, I stood motionless beside them, looking down on them with contempt and impatience as they reached for each other, longed for the other's touch. It was pathetic really, to see how they writhed and cried and whispered words of encouragement that neither really believed. And then their tears came because of pain and not despair and I felt slightly better as I watched them suffer.

It was a beautiful thing, to watch a Scitalis fall out of its human. It seeped out and unfurled like the petals of a blooming flower, its three tails gliding over and around each other in a sensual pattern. It glowed with the pale light of a specter, not solid and yet not quite gas. Its entire body undulated with magic and power. It moved slowly, at first because of confusion. Without a human's psyche to manipulate, the Scitalis was particularly slow-minded, leaving only its beauty to aid in its survival.

Then its slowness originated from its deteriorating resolve. There was no mind able to hold it and no sustenance to bring it into the physical world. It was stuck, floating in the metaphysical universe, without a protector.

And that was when it hit me—so simple that I was almost ashamed of myself. But I was alone in my experiments and it was plausible that with my genius I should overlook the simple solutions.

Without a moment's hesitation I crossed the room and kicked aside the Aragonite that made one corner of the Containment Triangle. Immediately after the wards fell the Scitalis went rigid. For a moment I feared that yet another experiment had failed and then it curled into a round of alarming convulsions. I went to it, looked down on it—I willed it into me. But it wouldn't come. It was shriveling, its tails curling into its body like the legs of dying spider. With a sudden burst of rage and dread I reached for it.

And then _I _was convulsing.

Emotions ran through me that didn't belong to me; panic, then relief, then panic again, then confusion—who am I? This isn't right! This won't work! I don't fit!

When the paroxysms settled and the emotions subsided and I returned to myself I could feel it inside me. It huddled in the back of my head—a shivering tendril of fear and discomfort. I prodded at it but it raised a defensive wall—an invisible wall. I could see it but I couldn't touch it. I could hear it but I couldn't touch it. I could communicate with it but I couldn't _touch _it!

_Come to me! _I demanded of it.

_You don't fit me,_ it said.

_We can work, _I assured it.

_I don't fit you._

Its resistance was wavering. I reached for it. I could feel its want. It wanted to come—it wanted to fit. It lowered its wall and touched me. And its white glow went out. Darkness surrounded it. It bent to my will—did always what I asked of it. I never heard it speak again…

* * *

This time, the return to Harry's own body and memories was as fast as the lash of a whip and he felt no disorientation. This time, he had controlled it—demanded it. Rage roared like a fire in his belly, boiling his blood and stoking his burning determination.

Voldemort stood before him, still frozen between past and present. His eyes were unfocused and his arms extended, offering something that he no longer owned to someone who was no longer there.

In an instant, Harry threw a curse at him. It was angry magic, something he wouldn't normally use. But now his only goal was to hurt—to punish. Voldemort went up in flames; great black tendrils that licked up his body, seeking only to devour and destroy.

Harry was awarded one ear-splitting shriek before suddenly, his fire was dashed. Voldemort stood before him, his robes tattered and burned, the skin of his arms and neck mottled with black, dead flesh. And then he retaliated.

Three curses flew at Harry in quick succession. He caught one in another crystal orb identical to the one he'd already destroyed. The second shattered a shield he'd just barely had time to conjure. The third he was forced to dodge; it cut through his shoulder, leaving an angry, red welt that seeped blood like occasional teardrops.

"You've seen, Potter!" he shouted as he threw another curse at Harry. "You can't defeat me!" Harry threw out his hand and the curse reflected off his palm back at Voldemort. "I am one Scytale! You are one _half_!"

He lifted his arms and cupped his hands together. With his bare palms he caught his own curse. Light flooded through the gaps in his fingers. It burned brighter and brighter—and then...it went out. Voldemort spread his arms and his hands were unscathed.

Harry was not deterred. Anger still raced through him; anger for the loss of Harry's other half, forgotten—maybe hurt—in the chaos at Hogwarts; anger for his brothers, so many dead Scytale; anger for the Scitalis imprisoned in Voldemort, turned impure by Voldemort's black soul. He stretched his arms out to the sides, spreading his fingers.

All around them the Shrieking Shack began to shake. Vibrations ran up and down Harry's legs, echoing back into the floor, increasing the tremors. With a great, screeching protest, the floorboards were wrenched up, rusty nails protruding from their undersides. They hovered for only a second and then Harry threw his hands forward.

Like a hundred giant spears, the boards spiraled through the air. Voldemort worked his wand fiercely. Dirt from the very foundation of the house rose up in a thick cloud. Harry waved his hands frantically, trying to clear it away from his mouth and nose and eyes. He couldn't see—couldn't breathe. There was a deadly crash and Harry allowed himself to hope. Then Voldemort shouted from somewhere in the distance and Harry heard the windows around him shatter.

Shards whipped through the dirt cloud toward him, slicing his face and arms and back, shredding his robes. He threw out his hands and they all froze. Together, glass and dirt fell to the floor in a tinkling rain. Across from him, Voldemort stood in the middle of a pile of rubble. Apart from his ugly burns, he was unharmed.

Then, at precisely the same time, Voldemort cut his wand through the air and Harry leaned forward, a roar like a hurricane pouring from his mouth. It swept up into a wicked wind that thrashed around the room, catching Voldemort's killing curse and whipping it to and fro, ricocheting off the walls and ceiling. Harry was forced to take cover as the spell lit the entire shack, striking down everywhere like green lightening, demolishing everything in its path.

From far above his head, over the roar of the wind, Harry could hear the groan of bending, snapping wood and the popping of breaking glass. Warily, he peeked out from the beneath the couch he'd wedged himself under. To his horror, the ceiling was buckling, cracked in a thousand places by the storm.

Harry had time for one frightened appeal for help and then the house crashed down around him.


	27. Chapter 27

_Thank you, Sarah, my excellent beta! :)_

**Chapter 27 – Ripped Apart**

When he regained consciousness he wished he hadn't.

The pain was mind-numbing. It was everywhere—throbbing steadily in his arm and nose, stinging viciously in bloody slashes across his torso and face, squeezing his entire head in its unforgiving, powerful hands.

Harry pushed the agony out of him in a strangled, drawn-out moan. But it came roaring back seconds later, setting off blinding white fireworks beneath his eyelids. He lay still, trying to adjust to the pain. Slowly, memories crawled back to him. He had been fighting Voldemort...Voldemort the Scytale.

Harry's eyes flew open with a gasp and all he saw was blackness. For a moment he was afraid he'd been somehow blinded. Then he remembered how he'd wedged himself beneath the couch in the hailstorm of falling house. Warily he shifted, trying to maneuver himself out from underneath. A scream tore through his lips as pain bulleted down his leg. That was when he realized the couch had snapped beneath the weight of the second floor. It was now tilted, half its mass crushing his mangled leg.

When his scream ran out Harry flattened the hand of his one good arm against the underside of the couch, a mere inch above his face. With a great groan, the couch was blown off him, landing with a crash in the rubble ten feed away. Harry sat up slowly and took in the scene around him.

It looked like a Muggle bomb had gone off. The roof was completely gone along with the entire second floor, crumbled into a huge pile of rubble all around Harry. Moonlight cast long, rippling shadows over the scene from various portions of still-standing walls. A lightly whipping wind left over from Harry's final attack stirred the dust and dirt around him, conjuring up occasional cloudy tendrils that blew over the ruins.

Far in the distance Harry could make out the black line of a crowd and, if he listened hard enough, he could hear their chaotic screams and shouts. They were pressed close against the magical wards, a faintly glimmering dome in the starlight. Harry no longer had any hope that Dumbledore could remove them. Somehow he understood—only a Scytale could demolish these wards. They had, after all, been created using Scytale magic—Voldemort's magic.

Feeling suddenly panicky, Harry's eyes darted again over the wreckage. For a moment it all appeared as it had at first glance. Then he noticed the faint bluish glow on the other side of the one-time living room. With a pained growl, Harry pushed himself over onto his belly. Using one hand and one leg, he managed to drag himself toward the light, his lame leg trailing along behind him, sharp bits of wood stabbing into him.

As he approached he recognized the shape of a body. He pulled himself up next to a sprawled out Voldemort, watching in wonder as the eyes rolled back and the limbs began to twitch. And there, curled alongside Voldemort's head, was a radiating, smoky Scitalis, its body strangely still.

A sudden burst of horror and sadness ripped through Harry's heart and he noticed a sort of detachment he had for the emotions, almost as if they didn't quite belong to him. On his temple, his serpent mark began to burn. The glowing Scitalis lifted its head an inch off the ground, its tongue darting out curiously. It didn't seem to have much strength left.

Harry's head darted around before he asked it to, looking for something. He gave up just after he realized what it was he'd been looking for—sustenance—and he turned his gaze back on the snake.

"_Brother…_" he said and his own voice startled him. It was slow and slippery, like a hiss, and he recognized that he spoke not in English but in Parseltongue.

"_Thank you,_" the Scitalis hissed back. "_I'm free._"

And then it curled into itself and disappeared on a gust of wind, like the flame of a candle being blown out. Voldemort fell still.

Sadness crippled Harry for a long time. He lay calmly beside Voldemort's dead body and allowed himself to feel it swirling through him like another injury. Finally, a long, cool thing moved inside Harry, slithering restlessly around his heart. He felt suddenly as though he were missing something very important—like an arm or a lung. His body moved without his permission, as if he were a puppet on strings. Painfully, he lurched to his feet, using an arm to catch himself on a sturdy bit of wall.

He followed the pull of the strings holding him and found, to his surprise, something hidden in the shadow of a tree. It was an entire corner of the Shrieking Shack that still stood, mostly untouched. There was even a door, still on its hinges, still closed and locked firmly against the wind that had destroyed the rest of the house. Behind the door Harry was startled to hear the sounds of a pair of fists beating on walls and muffled shouting.

Hastily he jerked his hand backward. The door was ripped off its hinges and tossed aside. Revealed by the dim lighting was a small closet, and in it was a Containment Triangle. This one was much smaller and sloppier than the ones in Voldemort's memories, as if it had been drawn in a hurry, but there were three different gemstone at each of three points that Harry recognized; Aragonite, Fluorite and Diamond.

Together, they made a prison—a prison in which Draco Malfoy was being held captive.

He was thrashing wildly, beating his hands and feet against the walls, floor and even himself. Not even Harry's sudden appearance shook him from his spasms. He was caught in a world that Harry couldn't see.

"HARRY!" he screamed, the sheer terror in his voice ripping through Harry's chest like a rusty sword. And Harry found himself frozen by a hundred emotions, unsure what to do.

Quite suddenly Draco collapsed, crumbling into a limp pile pressed into the darkest corner of the closet. He trembled from head to toe and his hands clenched and unclenched against his chest. A thin sheen of sweat made his skin glimmer but the light in his eyes had gone out. He stared blankly at the floor, unseeing.

"Harry," he panted, his voice strangled. "I didn't know—I swear it."

All at once feeling came back to Harry and he squeezed himself into the closet, dropping to the floor beside Draco with his leg sprawled out at a sickly angle. A second passed in which he worried it might not be safe to touch Draco. And then his body took over, tingling with anticipation and longing to have Draco in his arms once more.

"Harry," Draco was groaning, his voice frighteningly weak. "I didn't know—I didn't mean it...Harry, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, Draco," Harry whispered, wrapping his good arm around Draco and pulling him closer.

Draco fell into him limply, still mumbling. He didn't seem to have heard Harry, nor even recognized that he was no longer alone. His eyes were completely void of that spark of life and Harry hated to look into them.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he breathed.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here." Harry stroked his hair, giving him little shakes to rouse him from his state. He doubted they were even noticeable through the violent tremors that wracked his body. And then Draco's tone changed—from desperate hopelessness it turned pained and strangled.

"Please..." he choked. "I need..." His voice dissolved into a helpless gurgle and his head fell back against the wall. His breathing turned harsh and shallow and as Harry watched him, a faint glow began around his head.

The light grew stronger, casting long shadows across the walls. Something like silvery liquid steam began leaking from Draco's ears. It dripped down his body, pooling on the ground beneath him.

"Draco?" Harry gasped.

Draco opened his mouth to speak again but instead of words there was more of that eerie, glowing substance, rolling in a wave off his tongue and splashing across his lap.

Just then a zinging pain shot down the right side of Harry's face. Instinctively, he slapped a hand over his cheek, his fingertips at his temple. He was startled to feel the silver mark there was hot as a flame and _writhing_. He touched it hesitantly as it dripped down his face as if it were melting. He pulled his hand away and cried out in shock to see it covered in a thin layer of the luminescent liquid draining out of Draco. Comprehension dawned on Harry and distress rolled off his tongue in a choked sob.

"No," he gasped. "No, no, no, NO!"

He turned back to Draco, jolting his leg painfully. He didn't care. Reaching out, he shook Draco one-handed. His head rattled lifelessly on his shoulders.

"Draco!" Harry cried. "Hold on, Draco!"

He let his hand drop to the button on his trousers but he froze before he could undo it. There was no way. There was no way he could get hard now. The fear, pain and panic—he couldn't do it!

The liquid essence pooling on the floor was beginning to move now. It drained together—Draco's puddle and Harry's puddle—and swirled gently, reshaping itself.

At the sight, something stirred in Harry—memories. They were recent but so old. Remembered words played through his mind.

_It cannot live for an extended period of time in the metaphysical universe..._

_Its other option is to inhabit a nearby mind..._

_The Scitalis is meant to be split between two bodies..._

_Sharing a kiss..._

Groping desperately, Harry found Draco's hand, squeezing it gently.

"We can do it," he said, anxiety pounding through him.

It would have to be perfect timing—after the Scitalis recognized their presence but before they became too weak to accept it back inside their minds.

Harry scooted closer to Draco, cupping his good hand around Draco's neck. All the while he kept a watchful eye on the growing Scitalis. As it strengthened and clarified, its tails splitting, stretching and curling, Harry found himself growing weaker. He could feel the power seeping out of him. His limbs felt heavy and swollen, his head and chest too empty. The pain from his injuries doubled as if the Scitalis had been bearing a fraction of his suffering. Beside him, Draco's agonized groan was too quiet—too weak.

Then the Scitalis turned and lifted its head. Its forked tongue darted out, tasting the air—smelling them.

_Now,_ Harry's muddled brain told him. But he couldn't figure out what it was he should be doing. His thoughts were clouded and confused. He was entranced by the beautiful glowing thing wriggling before him—what was it called again? Odd, how it seemed to be fading... Odd, how the feeling seemed to be draining out of Harry's fingers and toes and his vision blurring.

Harry blinked blearily as blackness moved in from the corners of his vision. A word sprang into his tired mind; death.

_I'm dying,_ he thought tranquilly. _I wish I weren't alone._

He turned his head side to side, searching hopefully for a companion to keep him company in his last moments. And there was Draco, eyes closed, face blank, breaths coming so soft and distant that he might have been mistaken for dead. Harry pretended he was sleeping.

"Amazing," Harry breathed. How kind that the gods should provide him with the man he loved just before the end. How he longed to touch Draco...to kiss him.

_Just one kiss,_ Harry decided mindlessly. _And then I'll go peacefully_.

As he leaned in Harry was vaguely aware of the pearly serpent weaving forward and slipping around Harry's ankles, its head bobbing closer. And then his lips touched Draco's and he was aware of nothing outside of their kiss.

It reminded him so much of that first time in the alcove. His mind drudged up the memory and he was pleased by the perfect clarity of it.

Then, Draco had been warm and soft and full of life. Now he was cold as ice and his mouth unyielding, the blood in his lips already congealing. But the comparison came with the scent and taste—something so overpowering that day. He was minty and musky, a combination that made Harry's mouth water.

The other similarity was something Harry could have done without. It was a shame that his last kiss had to be marred with that burning fire running a circuit up and down the side of his face. And that light—such a bright light and getting brighter every moment. He wished someone would turn out the light. Brightness did not befit death.

The pain in Harry's temple was increasing. He screwed his eyes shut against it but nothing could relieve it. He was moments from breaking away from Draco in agony when there was suddenly a hand in his hair, gripping so hard that Harry felt some hair parting from his scalp. And then Draco sucked in a great, shuddering breath. The blinding light flickered, faded, and went out. Only starlight illuminated the closet.

Harry opened his eyes, smiled weakly to see life flooding back into Draco's silver irises, and then his body gave out.

He crumpled into a motionless heap, Draco's unsuspecting fingers ripping from his hair. When his head cracked against the unforgiving floor not a sound escaped his lips. He merely stared at Draco's shoe as the darkness crept in around him.

Draco shifted. His shoe disappeared and his face was suddenly hovering over Harry's. A light touch caressed his right temple, pushing aside a strand of sweaty, bloody hair. Harry's eyes fell closed.

"Harry?" Draco whispered, his voice laced with worry, confusion and an odd flare of determination. "Harry, I'm the traitor."

Harry grimaced at the word but Draco charged on.

"But I didn't know it!" he said loudly.

"I know," Harry murmured, using every ounce of his strength to force coherency from his mouth.

Draco seemed not to have heard him—or ignored him. "The Dark Lord—he intercepted the letter to my mother."

"I know," Harry repeated.

"He cursed the books I asked for," Draco continued.

"Draco..."

"He made me fake my own kidnapping and—"

"_Draco_," Harry bit out, and the force caused him the last of his energy. Thankfully, Draco fell silent. Harry smiled gently up at him.

"I love you," he whispered and then submitted to the darkness.

As he floated through unconsciousness he was comforted by Draco's last words resonating through his head.

"Bloody Gryffindor..."


	28. Chapter 28

_Thank you to my beta, Sarah!_

**Chapter 28 – The Kiss**

Celebrations were being held on the Hogwarts grounds by the civilians who had, only hours ago, been afraid for their lives. Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs had been distributed widely and were now lighting up the early morning sky. The news of Voldemort's death had already spread far and wide, the _Prophet_ going to work right away on a special edition that would some day be displayed in frames on the walls of wizarding homes across the country. All over, magical people and creatures alike were raising their glasses and toasting Harry Potter.

And Harry Potter was sitting up in a bed in the Hospital Wing, happy to be hidden away from his hundreds of well-wishers.

Draco was slumped in a chair beside his bed, finally sleeping after seeing that Harry had regained consciousness and would be okay. Hermione was awake in the bed next to him, reading one of Draco's books about Scytale that she had brought from his room at Grimmauld Place (and that Dumbledore had already purged of the curse Voldemort had put on it). She and the Weasley's had been transferred to the Hospital Wing after Hogwarts had been cleared of Death Eaters—some captured and some escaped, now in hiding.

Madame Pomfrey, currently across the corridor in a larger, rather more crowded room of wounded civilians and Order members, had mended Harry's broken nose and multiple lacerations from the glass in a heartbeat. She'd given him a hearty dose of Skelegrow and bound his leg and arm in the meantime. As for the concussion he'd received from many blows to the head, he was currently keeping up with two different steaming mugs of potion and was otherwise bedridden.

"You know," said Hermione quietly. "You and Malfoy ought to have a talk with the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked, only partially interested. He was absorbed by the fireworks doing pinwheels outside the hospital window.

"Well, because these books have a lot of missing bits. You could help them put together a more detailed account of Scytale. It might be really helpful to future Scytale who are confused about the changes occurring in their bodies."

Harry snorted lightly. "You make it sound like puberty."

Hermione smiled. "It sort of is like puberty."

With a conceding shrug, Harry lapsed back into silence.

Moments later the Infirmary doors creaked open and Dumbledore stepped through, looking worn and exhausted but cheerful. The last time Harry had seen him, he'd been working on taking down the wards around the Shrieking Shack—wards which Draco had demolished with a flick of his wand after Harry had fainted.

Dumbledore smiled as he approached and his blue eyes twinkled merrily.

"It's good to see you awake, Harry," he said. "Mr. Malfoy has already told me about the entire remarkable adventure. Did he tell you that he was able to see all the memories Voldemort shared with you at the time you saw them?"

Harry nodded. "I wasn't really surprised when he told me. He's been spying on my thoughts ever since I first—erm, well..."

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed happily, ignoring Harry's light blush. "However, if I'm not entirely mistaken, there is a part of your story that he could not tell."

"Yes," said Harry. "When I found him he wasn't himself. I don't think he was at all aware of reality."

Dumbledore looked grave. "There is a price to pay for seeing into Voldemort's mind."

"But his memories didn't seem to affect me," Harry mused.

The smile leapt back to Dumbledore's face instantly. "No, you, I think, are quite special in that way."

Harry didn't know whether to feel pleased or disgusted.

"What I mean to say, Harry," continued Dumbledore, correctly reading the misgivings in his expression. "Is that you seem to be immune to even the most evil qualities in a person—you have always been that way. You are so _good_, Harry, that nothing can turn you bad."

He looked entirely too pleased as he said the last but Harry grimaced.

"Are you saying Voldemort turned Draco bad?"

Draco had seemed perfectly normal to Harry when he'd spoken with him briefly after waking up in the Hospital Wing.

"Not at all," affirmed Dumbledore. "Only that to Draco, Voldemort's mind was like poison. It temporarily possessed him—drove him mad until you came and put him right."

Harry considered this silently for a while. Then Dumbledore conjured up a chair and settled himself in.

"Now," he said. "I should like to hear what more you have to add to your fascinating tale."

Harry nodded. "You know about Voldemort's memories and you saw the Shrieking Shack cave in as a result of my duel with Voldemort—"

"Most astounding magic, my dear boy," interrupted Dumbledore.

Harry shrugged modestly and continued. "I survived it by ducking underneath a couch. When I came out Voldemort was just lying in the middle of the wreckage—I think he must have been hit by his own spell.

"Beside him was the Scitalis that he'd captured. It was dying and I wanted to help it but there was nothing I could do..."

He could feel his own Scitalis tighten remorsefully around his heart as he thought of it. Since the Shrieking Shack, things had changed inside him. He was more aware than ever of the separate entity living inside him, and yet he'd never felt more at peace with it—as if it really were himself.

Harry looked up and was startled to see Dumbledore watching him expectantly. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone.

"Erm, right, well..." He cleared his throat. "Well, then I found Draco. He was in a closet, imprisoned in a Containment Triangle—"

Hermione gasped and Harry looked over to see that she'd laid her book aside and was listening intently.

"A Containment Triangle," she said. "But that's really Dark magic. It involves drawing magical energy from other dimensions—energy that humans couldn't possibly control—and containing it in gemstones."

"That's right," said Harry. "He used gemstones. I just had to kick one aside to break the enchantment and then I could get to Draco. Only he had sort of passed out by then."

"Because of the effect Voldemort's memories had on him?" asked Hermione.

"No," Dumbledore answered before Harry could open his mouth. "No, I believe this was because he and Harry had run out of time, was it not?"

Harry blushed and nodded. Hermione was confused.

"We hadn't, erm...been together in twenty-four hours," he explained and she, too, flushed.

"So you...Right there?" she looked horrified.

"No!" Harry shouted with immediate, embarrassed denial. "No...I mean, I couldn't—how could I do _that_ with a broken arm and leg next to Voldemort's dead body while Draco was unconscious."

He shuddered in disgust at the very thought and Hermione looked abashed. "So what did you do?" she whispered.

"I didn't do anything," he said simply. "I let the Scitalis go out of our bodies. I planned to wait until it had formed outside of us and then I was going to kiss Draco.

"Lucius Malfoy and Macnair had discovered in their research that if a Scitalis was forced to leave its host and it had no way to return to the physical world, then it would search for another host to join. I figured if I kissed Draco before either of us became too weak then it could come back into us..."

"Ah," Dumbledore breathed. "Quite ingenious. Instead of allowing the Scitalis to reconnect with its other half through your coupling, it reconnected on its own, outside of your bodies, and then split in half to join you again."

"It was horrible," Harry reminisced. "I felt so...empty...alone. I was weak without it—and stupid. I almost didn't kiss Draco...I didn't remember what I was supposed to do after it left me."

"An unfortunate side effect of being a Scytale," Dumbledore said gravely. "You were neither weak nor stupid, Harry. You only felt that way because you had already grown accustomed to the enhanced power and intelligence granted to you by your Scitalis."

"Amazing..." Harry heard Hermione whisper. He knew she must be thrilled by all she was learning.

Harry, on the other hand, didn't care much about the whys and what else. The only thing he was concerned with was never allowing a repeat of what had happened in that closet in the Shrieking Shack. Already he knew exactly when he and Draco would have to be intimate again and he had been checking his watch much more than necessary since he'd been awake.

He looked at it now—twenty hours. With a tremor of longing and desire, Harry hoped they wouldn't have to wait until the last minute...

"There's something I don't understand," Hermione said, shaking Harry from his thoughts. "The Prophesy...didn't it say that one had to kill the other? But Harry, you said you think Voldemort was killed by his own spell..."

Harry looked to Dumbledore, expecting him to offer up another one of his wise theories. But Dumbledore was looking expectantly back at Harry. Meditatively, Harry recalled the memory, searching for the answer.

"We both cast magic at the same time..." he said slowly. "Voldemort used the killing curse and I—" He glanced between the two, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I kind of...conjured up a tornado."

He recalled how he'd opened his mouth and literally roared at Voldemort. Without the adrenaline rush, it seemed rather silly. He continued, deciding not to describe the details.

"They mixed together and it turned into a storm—right there in the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort's killing curse turned into deadly lightning which was blown around by my wind. That's what brought down the house and what killed Voldemort."

"So," concluded Dumbledore. "While Harry did not cast the final curse, it was his magic that manipulated it."

His smile was absolutely beaming.

"Well, I think that's enough to be going on with for now," he said. "I'll leave you to get your rest."

He stood and banished his chair. Just as he reached the door a memory raced through Harry's head.

"Wait, Professor!" he called.

Dumbledore turned. "Yes, Harry?"

"There's one more thing...The Reader—Snape gave it to you."

"Professor Snape," corrected Dumbledore. "Yes, he did."

"And Voldemort gave it to him," said Harry.

"Yes."

"So when you figured out how the Reader worked..."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Yes, it was the Reader that led me to the assumption that Voldemort could somehow sense his new powers." He smiled ironically. "I had no idea at the time that he needn't be able to understand his powers at all—that there was, in fact, no limit to his powers."

"But there was a limit," Harry contradicted.

"Oh? Do explain."

"He thought he was stronger than me," Harry said. "Because the Scitalis inside him wasn't split, like the one inside me and Draco. But what he didn't understand was that splitting the Scitalis was exactly what made me more powerful.

"When I was in his head and we were remembering the moment when his Scitalis joined him, I heard it speaking to him. It said 'I don't fit you'. It wasn't comfortable in him—especially when he tried controlling it. It always wanted out. Therefore, it didn't allow him access to its full power."

Dumbledore considered him silently for a moment. Then he said; "That's a very complicated creature you've got in your head, my dear boy."

Harry, unsure what to say to this, said something else instead. "Professor, if you don't mind...could I have that Reader?"

Smiling gently, Dumbledore nodded. "It's yours, Harry." Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

"What do you need the Reader for, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"He wants to set the Scitalis inside it free."

Harry jumped and jerked his head around, causing a sharp pain to zip through his head. Draco was awake in his chair and smirking at Harry.

"Been eavesdropping, have you?" Harry accused.

Draco chuckled. "When you talk right in front of me I doubt it's called eavesdropping."

Harry laughed too.

"So I was human for a minute—not Scytale," Draco mused, reflecting on the moment in the closet. "And then you bound me again. Don't you ever ask first, Potter?"

Harry looked rightfully ashamed, though he secretly wasn't. "Sorry," he said.

Draco shook his head. "Lucky for you, I have more consideration."

"What are you talking about?"

Rising from his seat, Draco climbed onto Harry's bed. He lay down next to him and scooped up both Harry's hands gently, looking down into Harry's eyes. Harry felt utterly bewildered by Draco's behavior. He gaped at Draco, entranced by the molten silver swirl of his eyes.

"When I was trapped in that closet," Draco began quietly. "I had a lot of time to think." He grinned. "But I couldn't think—because your face kept getting in the way."

Harry's forehead crinkled in confusion. One of Draco's thumbs came up and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"I was sure I was going to die—sure that you wouldn't be able to find me in time. But I didn't care. Dying wasn't such a scary thought. What scared me was that I might never get to see you again...That I might die—_we _might die—with you believing I betrayed you.

"And then you did find me and all I wanted to do was make sure you knew that I'd been controlled against my will. It was so important, Harry, that you knew the truth; that I was—I am—completely loyal to you."

"I know, Draco. I know you're not a traitor," Harry said.

"But that's not the point, Potter!" Draco snapped urgently. "Don't you see? The point is that I'm loyal to you—_only _you. I love my parents, Harry, but if I thought you couldn't save them and the Dark Lord could...I wouldn't care. I would stick by you. Because...because..."

"You don't have to, Draco," whispered Harry. It felt like there was something lodged in his throat and it hurt.

And then Draco had Harry's chin in an unyielding grip and was forcing Harry's face up. He stared into Harry's eyes with burning determination and something else—something Harry had never seen in Draco's eyes before.

"I love you, Harry," Draco growled. "And don't you tell me I don't have to."

Then he lowered his head and crushed his mouth against Harry's.

Thoughts and emotions and memories swirled through Harry in a torrential wave of feeling. He relished the taste of Draco's tongue running intimate patterns over his lips, teeth and tongue. Beneath his hands, he enjoyed the feeling of Draco's broad shoulders. He slid one up Draco's neck, cupping his jaw, and felt a muscle jump against his palm.

Something rushed back to Harry then in a flurry of movement, like an owl swooping by, and he couldn't help his fingers from tightening almost painfully around Draco's jaw. Against Draco's mouth, Harry's lips split into a fantastic grin.

He was remembering the Dursley's house—a movie they owned. It seemed so long ago now that he was surprised he even made the connection. But there it was, in the twitch of Draco's jaw, which reminded him of a kiss he had once idealized and a couple he had idolized. Sarah and Jonathon had been the epitome of romance, and their kiss the epitome of true love. How Harry had longed to experience their kiss, that level of devotion to another person.

This was not that kiss—it was better.

Then Draco sat back and broke the kiss. Harry groaned unhappily and Draco smirked at him.

"So," he said. "Here is where I consult you before I bind you irreversibly to me."

"We're already bound irreversibly," Harry pointed out.

"But I want to be bound by choice," Draco said.

Harry frowned. "What are you saying?"

Draco rolled his eyes and grinned. "I want us to be married, you dolt."

* * *

Harry had fallen asleep beside Draco as the sun rose. When he woke now it was dark again and silent and his curtains were pulled closed, the moonlight making pretty patterns on the soft, rippling surface. Harry tried to figure out what had woken him—he'd been having such a pleasant dream about Draco. And then a shudder ripped through him as he felt a warm breath gust over his bared private section.

Glancing down, his breath stuck in his throat as he saw Draco, coaxing his stirring cock to full hardness. Draco's eyes caught his and with a devious smirk, he lowered his mouth down around Harry.

"Is it time already?" Harry gasped, trying to keep his eyes open as Draco's tongue did wonderful things to him.

Draco's mouth came off him and Harry groaned, regretting having spoken.

"No," Draco said quietly, slithering up Harry's body and nipping him on the chin. "But I want you _now_."

"Okay," Harry choked, trying to sit up without hurting his lame arm and leg. Gently, Draco pushed him back down.

"Stay still, Harry," he whispered. "Let your fiancé take care of you."

Harry heard how Draco seemed to caress the word _fiancé _with his tongue as it left his mouth and his cock twitched. His eyes fell closed as his mouth fell open and then Draco dipped his tongue into that panting cavern.

With slow, gentle movements, being careful not to displace Harry's injured limbs, Draco removed first Harry's clothes and then his own. Harry couldn't remember a time in which such care had been taken in the process mounting up to the act.

Then Draco was straddling his waist, raised up on his knees and bent over so that he could leave love bites along the column of his neck. Reaching back, Draco's hand wrapped around Harry's erection, and slowly, he guided it into his slicked up entrance.

Harry moaned long and loud as Draco settled down onto him and Draco swallowed up his noises with a kiss, biting Harry's lip when he was seated fully on top of him. Without moving off of Harry, Draco kissed across Harry's jaw, down his neck, and over his chest. Then he sat back, pressed his palms flat onto Harry's stomach, and began moving.

With Draco's hands holding him down, Harry was forced to remain still through Draco's tantalizingly slow plunges down onto his cock. He kept the hand of his broken arm resting on Draco's thigh. The other he used to explore the contours of Draco's chest and arms, finally bringing it down onto Draco's cock and stroking it in time with his thrusts.

Without ever picking up his pace, Draco brought them both to a blinding, deafening orgasm that rolled and rolled through them like the unending waves on a sandy white beach. Harry had never had such a long-lasting release in his life and by the time he could breathe again he was sure he'd died and risen in that moment of blissful pleasure.

Then Draco lay down on top of him, tucking his head beneath Harry's chin to kiss behind his ear, and opened the gates of his mind.

Good feelings poured into Harry, mixing with his own and spiraling through his head in a whirlpool of bright colors; happiness, relief, pride, caring and passion.

"I love you," Harry mumbled, already being rocked to sleep by the soothing movements of their entwined thoughts.

Inside his head he could feel Draco's emotions conflicting between the desire to return Harry's feelings and the loathing of all things mushy and romantic.

"I love you," he finally grunted and his words were not half as telling as the warming light that spilled into Harry from Draco, like sunlight drifting through the leafy branches on a clear summer day.

_

* * *

_

Don't put Serpent Tales on the shelf yet! One more chapter on the way :D


	29. Chapter 29

_Thank you to Sarah, the Great Beta, who did an astounding job whipping this story into shape._

_Also, my apologies to those of you who love the sweet and mushy stuff; this is as fluffy as I get..._

**Chapter 29 – Epilogue**

Nearly two weeks later things had gone back to normal. After all of wizarding Britain had partied itself into a slump students had returned to the reopened Hogwarts and their parents back to work. The Weasleys had all been woken from their enchanted sleep and were very put out at missing all the action. Harry and Hermione were complete mended and had said goodbye to the Hospital Wing, hopefully for the last time.

Wizengamot trials had begun for Death Eaters and those still stubbornly loyal to the late Dark Lord. There had been nearly one a day since Voldemort's death. Harry had been asked to sit in on each and every one—though he personally knew only a few and recognized only a few more. At least he had Dumbledore with him and occasionally, Hermione and Ron. Draco had even attended his father's trial, standing with his mother as witnesses to Lucius's desire to repent.

As Draco Malfoy's fiancé, Lucius Malfoy's future son-in-law, and the two-time savior of the wizarding world, the Wizengamot had looked to Harry particularly for the final word on Lucius's destiny. Though Harry loved Draco and wished to see his family together again, he felt honor bound to be honest. He told the Wizengamot that he'd never witnessed Lucius's regret at serving the Dark Lord but he believed in Draco one-hundred percent.

That was good enough for the wizarding world and Lucius was set free of Azkaban, sentenced to a year of house-arrest and weekly meetings with a Parole Auror. And in return for speaking for him at his trial, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy gave Harry and Draco's union their blessing, not to mention a rather extensive inheritance.

Yes, it was the evening of October thirty-first, the students and professors of Hogwarts were sitting down to a more cheerful Halloween feast than had been seen in many years, and things were back to normal.

Or almost normal...

"I'm so hot for you," Draco rumbled low in Harry's ear as he leaned across Harry under the pretense of reaching for more yams.

After Draco and Harry's engagement, house tables in the Great Hall had been demolished. Everyone wanted to follow the famous Harry Potter's lead the first day he left the Gryffindor table to have breakfast with his fiancé. Now house banners hung, proudly intermingled, along the Great Hall walls, while one huge Hogwarts Crest dominated the center of the room, dangling from the enchanted ceiling. Blue, Yellow, Green, and Red uniforms were almost evenly interspersed throughout the four tables. In light of encouraging this new inter-house unity, Harry and Draco—the celebrity couple—changed tables once a day, Hermione and Ron (who had reluctantly accepted his best mate's relationship with his worst enemy) moving with them.

Harry could help neither the smile nor the blush that crossed his face now, where he sat across from his two best friends at the one-time Hufflepuff table.

"Keep it in your pants for a few more hours," he teased out of the corner of his mouth.

Draco sighed in defeat and Harry let relax the sexual tension that had been coiling like a spring in his lower stomach. He focused again on the conversation Hermione and Ron were having with one of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team beaters. They were discussing ways they could promote more inter-house harmony on the Quidditch Pitch without completely changing the way the game was played at Hogwarts.

"Perhaps we could sort teams by year, instead of house," the Ravenclaw beater suggested.

"No," Ron countered reasonably. "Then first years would be trampled and seventh years would always win."

And that was all Harry got to hear before he felt Draco's hand on his thigh, inching closer to the junction between his legs every second.

"That's it!" Harry suddenly said, quite loudly. He shot a meaningful look up at the Staff Table where Dumbledore caught his eye and nodded. "We're going now! C'mon Ron—Hermione."

He heaved a thoroughly pleased Draco off the bench by the collar of his robes and stomped out of the Great Hall amidst a flurry of live bats, courtesy of Hagrid. Ron and Hermione followed with hesitant confusion.

"What're we doing, mate?" Ron asked once they were out of range of the crowded Great Hall.

Releasing Draco to push open the front doors of the castle, Harry led the way across the grounds toward the lake.

"We're moving the ceremony up a few hours," he said shortly.

"What did you do, Malfoy?" he heard Ron hiss at Draco. Draco only chuckled.

When they'd circled the lake and were far out of sight of the castle, Harry came to a stop in a small clearing between the shore of the lapping lake and the shade of the looming forest. Draco crossed over to the edge of the water and stood idly by, watching Harry pace. Hermione and Ron settled onto an outcropping of rock, Ron with his arm around Hermione.

They had to wait only a short time until Harry spotted a small group of people coming around the lake toward them. Moments later, they were joined by Dumbledore, Lupin, Narcissa, and Lucius—who'd been given special permission by his Parole Auror to be here this evening under the watchful eye of Dumbledore.

"Impatient, are we?" Dumbledore smiled. He crossed over to where Draco was standing and turned his back on the lake to face the small crowd.

Suddenly much less cross and much more at peace, Harry, too, went to the lake's edge, taking his place beside Draco.

Behind him, his best friends, his parent's best friend, and his soon-to-be parents-in-law gathered together to watch the ceremony.

"We are gathered here today," Dumbledore began. "To witness the union of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter..."

* * *

Harry couldn't breathe.

He was, quite literally, out of oxygen and could not get anymore through his mouth or nose.

With the kind of strength loaned to a man in a panic, he grabbed Draco by the arms and tossed him sideways, throwing him roughly onto his back on the grassy lakeshore. It took him nearly half a second to gulp down a mouthful of air and then he rolled over on top of Draco and attacked his mouth again.

The sun was setting on their wedding day; their guests, after many congratulatory hugs and hand-shakes, had departed back to the castle. Draco, true to his word, had been and was still hot for Harry. He'd waited only long enough to ensure that his parents were out of his sight before throwing himself at his new husband.

Now, after savagely stripping them both of their clothing, Draco was wrestling Harry for dominance of their first night together as a legal couple. And after biting Harry's chest hard enough to break the skin and opening up his mind to flood Harry with his raging lust, he had it.

Going suddenly weak in the knees, Harry was easily flipped by Draco, landing on his back in the grass with his arms pinned over his head by one of Draco's hands. The other, he discovered suddenly in a jolt of pleasure, was to be used to prepare him.

"I love you so much," Draco growled as he bit a line across Harry's collar bones.

Harry moaned in desire and affection. He had been pleased to discover not long ago that during their more animalistic affairs, Draco felt no qualms in voicing his most intimate feelings for Harry. Something about the carnal snarls, erotic grunts, and wild thrusting made saying 'I love you' much less like professing his deepest secrets and more like staking his territory. Either way, Harry loved it.

With his mouth already open and the words forming on his tongue, Harry was caught mid-reply, as a talented finger brushed the sweet spot deep inside him.

"Oh god," he choked out instead, rutting helplessly against Draco.

"And my fingers love you, too," hissed Draco, dragging said fingers in a long, slow circle around Harry's inner channel.

A shudder rippled up Harry's spine and his arms jerked desperately. Draco released them, trailing his hand down Harry's chest and twisting it into the dark curls at the base of his cock. He ran his thumb tauntingly up the underside and swiped it over the head.

Harry was so mesmerized by watching that thumb rise up to Draco's mouth, a bead of pearlescent fluid balancing on the tip, that he didn't even notice when Draco's fingers left his arse. Then, just as his tongue darted out to lap up a taste of Harry, Draco slammed deep inside Harry.

"And my cock loves you," he grunted over Harry's strangled groan.

He pulled out achingly slowly, before driving back inside in a quick, smooth thrust. Again and again he did this, dragging out Harry's climb toward orgasm.

Harry tried to keep his mind cleared but his lust and Draco's lust alike were clouding it up. He tried to use this to his advantage, hiding his intentions from Draco's mind as he slipped his hands around Draco's back to caress his clenching arse.

Draco cried out as Harry pushed two magically lubricated fingers into his entrance. Once Draco had been stretched to Harry's liking he did something he hadn't done in a long time—too long.

Dipping into the store of magic that was as equally a part of him as it was apart from him, he doused his body from head to toe in shimmering power.

And just like that, Draco's smooth, flawless thrusts came to a grinding halt.

Draco was hovering over him, pushed up on his hands, his hair dangling in sweaty tendrils around his face. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth gaping in a show of sheer ecstasy. Harry had but to lay a hand on his shoulder and push and Draco toppled sideways.

Harry was on him and in him in an instant and Draco's eyes flew open as a constricted moan slipped through his teeth.

"What about your arse," Harry demanded in a husky voice as he pounded into Draco. "Does your arse love me, too?"

Recovering from the shock, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and drew him down, capturing his mouth in a blinding kiss.

"Love...you," he panted once they'd broken apart for air.

With a crooked smile, Harry reached across Draco and twined their left hands together with their rings touching. "I love you too, Draco—my husband," he breathed.

Then they both crashed over the edge of everything, falling into eternity, held tightly in each other's arms.

* * *

Some time later they could be found still naked, still lounging in the same clearing beneath the stars. It was far past curfew but neither of them intended to leave the other tonight.

Draco, leaning against a tree trunk, was humming softly to himself as he drew hovering, fiery shapes in the air with his wand, like the tip of a Muggle sparkler. Harry was sprawled on his back in the grass, lulled into a half-sleep by Draco's soothing melody.

"Why did you rescue me anyway, Harry?" Draco demanded suddenly, his humming cutting off mid-note.

"What are you on about?" Harry mumbled without opening his eyes.

"When you thought I was the traitor..." Draco clarified. "Why didn't you give up on me then? Why didn't you just kill the Dark Lord and go on with your life?"

Harry sat up then, looking around at Draco curiously. "What's got you in such a morbid mood?" he asked.

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Morbid? Hardly. I'm just curious about how my husband got to be such a self-sacrificing, hopeless romantic."

Harry laughed, laying back down and folding his arms behind his head. "Well, if you must know, I never thought you _were _the traitor."

Draco stiffened doubtfully. "Not even before you found me in the closet?"

"Not even then."

"How could you have trusted me so completely?" he asked suspiciously, as if trusting him could possibly be more stupid than tickling a sleeping dragon.

"Because," Harry said simply. "I remembered the first time I ever heard your mind."

Draco's brow creased into a series of thoughtful wrinkles. "When you were practicing at Grimmauld Place?"

Harry shook his head. "There was a time before then...A time you don't know about."

"When?" asked Draco.

"In that alcove—the very first time I kissed you. It seems like an age ago now..."

"You heard me then?" Draco balked. "But...you can't hear me unless I let you."

Harry smirked at Draco's discomfiture. "I have a theory," he said.

"Oh, do enlighten me, Potter," said Draco, leaning forward with mock enthusiasm. Though they were now bound both magically and legally, they had agreed to retain their own surnames.

Harry ignored his sarcasm. "I think everything was too new," he explained. "Our specific abilities took time to develop, after all. We had only just begun our transformations at that time and I believe that you weren't yet immune to me—or else my abilities were raging out of control. In either case—or neither case—I heard your last thought just before you walked out of that alcove."

"I can't remember what I was thinking then," admitted Draco.

Harry smiled. "Your exact thought was; 'am I doing the right thing?'."

It was rare that Draco ever let his Slytherin mask down. Even though Harry was now adept at seeing right through it Draco always kept it in place—maybe just to make Harry's life more difficult. But now it fell and Draco's shock and awe leapt out at Harry. Rising slowly onto all four's, Harry crawled toward Draco on predator's paws.

"And that..." Draco said slowly. "That was all it took for you to trust me?"

"Unequivocally," Harry growled, his voice low with renewed yearning.

Draco's eyes sharpened when he heard Harry's tone and then they slid out of focus. Harry knew that look well by now—Draco was listening to the emotions sliding off Harry's psyche; the passion and desire that Harry displayed proudly.

When Harry was a mere pace from Draco, the prey struck the predator. Toppling backwards, the two fell into a wild tussle. Harry saw stars when Draco pushed him over and slammed his shoulders and head into the grass. A wanton moan rippled up his throat and over his tongue and he rutted violently against Draco. With a low chuckle, Draco leaned down and took Harry's mouth.

And this time the stars that exploded behind Harry's eyelids had nothing to do with pain.

End.

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